Riker Jackson and the Lighting Snatcher
by EpikalStorms
Summary: The gods will rue the day they let that Jackson, that rogue son of Sally Jackson and Poseidon, in on his heritage. And Riker Jackson, well, he's ready to turn this world of Greek Mythology upside down. With his new friends, he might do just that. Besides, it's boring enough already. Time to make head roll. Badass!Punk!Confident!Percy, AU
1. Introducing, Riker Adley Jackson

_Yo, my name's Percy Jackson. _

_Okay, that's a lie. It used to be Percy Jackson, but I changed it after convincing my mother that Perseus/Percy was a real pansy name. She happened to agree, it was dear dad's idea, after all. Now, let me start over with the truth._

_My name, punks, is Riker Adley Jackson. I happen to really like it, so if you have any problems, please keep them to yourselves. Otherwise I might have to teach some people a lesson._

_Anyway, I should probably get on with this, and tell you the reason I'm actually addressing you lowlife's in the first place. I'll just be blunt, come right out with it so none of us are confused. I am a half-blood. Any racists out there may politely die in a hole, because, no, that's not what I meant. Half-blood, demigod. That's right. One of my parents, perhaps the less... coolest one, was a god. My father, in fact, was one of the twelve Olympians of the Greek Pantheon. _

_I really don't care for him all that much. Or his brother, Mr. Thunderwear—because I think Uncle Hades is the best, personally, but that's not important right now._

_Some of you might think that is cool. It's certainly interesting, yeah. But awesome? … Okay, it's pretty damn awesome, in my opinion—but it's not a good thing, not in the least. It's actually a really unfortunate existence. You're chased endlessly by monsters, and, usually, at least one of your parents(it's mostly the immortal one) doesn't give a rat's ass about you or what's happening to you. You're just the results of a one night stand, is most often the case with us demigods._

_I'm not gonna lie. I actually happen to really like being what I am. I some pretty bad-ass powers that normal mortals don't have the genes for. My reflexes? Awesome. Totally legit. Swords are a common sight for me, inf fact I almost hardly notice them anymore. My bedroom at home is the equivalent to a weapons vault-it's pretty damn sweet, if you ask me. And yeah, I guess life could be better. The monster's could grow some brains and leave me the hell alone so I can actually get some life lived. The gods could stand to lend a hand to us—it is their fault we exist, after all. My dad could get off his ass and visit my mum once in a while-but life, it isn't perfect like that. You just got to deal with it. So, I did. Percy Jackson changed. He changed into Riker Adley Jackson. And, let me tell you—Riker Adley Jackson is one of the most legit guys you will ever meet._

_If you don't believe me, that's fine. Read ahead. If you do believe me, that's alright too. Go on. But if you see and resemblance to your own life in these pages... I honestly can say ta I don't necessarily care, and that you should read on anyway so you can be at least prepared for what's to come—but I'll be "responsible and give you a warning. Turn back now. Set this book down and never—never—pick it up again._

_Chiron's words, not mine, but that's not really the point right now. The aforementioned point is; this here is my story—my life. Read it if you want, I won't mind. _

_Just don't dis it. I can't promise you'll wake up again tomorrow._

_Just a warning._

**Chapter One**

Riker didn't have the best life. He didn't have much money, he didn't have the nicest home, he didn't have very many friends. What you probably wouldn't guess, though, is that he's a bit proud of those facts. His motto is "Life is boring, so make heads roll."

It's a good phrase to live by, in his opinion. The reason he is without friends, really, is because everyone else—they're all too scared of him. The normal ones, at least. He had a few buddies that he met up with in the alleys at night and hung around with, but they didn't necessarily count. Riker wasn't a fool, he knew they'd sell him down the river at the first sign of trouble. But that was fine, he'd do the same.

Honestly, the only bright thing in his life was, aside form the fact that he was the coolest teen to grace the humble dust of this earth, his mother.

That's right. Riker s a momma's boy—and he's not afraid to admit that. His mother, Sally Jackson, was the coolest woman in the fabric of reality. At least, that was Riker's thoughts.

She worked in a candy shop, and always brought back a bag to share with her son when the weekends rolled in. Everything was blue, of course, since Riker's favorite color's were blue and black. Sometimes Sally slipped in some black licorice, which Riker loved the most, but the teen was just content enough to sit down on the couch, munch on candy, and talk with his mother about anything at all. Life, chores, school, jobs, homework, the future, the past, what did Riker want to do for the summer? Should Sally rent out their usual cabin in Montuak? What lowlife had asked Sally out on a date this week? Should Riker get prepared to back some faces in?

What Riker loved most, aside from his mother, about his life was the utter danger it presented him. Sure, his motto said Life was overall boring, and that was true, but Riker's posed a bit of a challenge. He loved it, the adrenaline, the rush, the risks he chose to take when running away from those... things that chased him almost continuously. He loved it. It was _fun_.

The thing Riker hated most about is life, however, unfortunately lived in the same apartment. It was a disgusting thing, smelling, filthy. Riker was certain it's parents had never been married at all when they had had it. It's name was Gabe. Gabe Ugliano. As in "Oo-glee-ano." Riker purposefully mispronounced it.

"Sally!" A voice that would make anyone cringe in dislike called out from the front room. Riker scowled from his place on his pitch black bed-spread as his mother stood up slowly from her place beside him. The white paper bag of candy that sat between them crinkled a little and Riker tossed it onto his desk, sending a discontent look in his mother's direction. Sally sighed. "Sorry, hon."

"Can't I _dispose_ of him?" Riker drawled out, glaring at the wall. We both know he deserves it, yeah."

"_No_, Rike. You can't." Sally sent him a look, and the lithe teen of a pretty average height sunk down on his mattress, looking disappointed. "One of these days," he swore, "that man will _die_."

Sally let out a huff and smacked the back of Riker's head, to which the teen responded with a yelp. "Oi! Fine, I apologize. You accept it. Go make the fucke—lowlife his bean-dip, or whatever incredibly important, life-sustaining force he needs." Riker rolled his eyes when Sally's face darkened, quickly changing the curse into another words directly from his vocabulary.

"What did I say about swearing? Riker!" Sally shook her head as Gabe shouted for her again. "Sally! C'_mon_!" Riker growled, but stopped from dashing out of the room to throttle the man when his mother held up a hand. "I'll take care of it, hon. Just relax, okay? Why don't go finish that homework that Mr. Brunner assigned you this weekend? Aren't you excited? I mean, you only have one more week left of school!"

It was a pretty distinct fact that Riker has never stayed in a school for more than one year—most of the time he was expelled before the year could even end. Sally was pretty excited for him, when he noticed he hadn't been expelled from his latest school, Yancy Academy, yet.

"I know," Riker groaned. "And the moronic teach just _had_ to schedule a field trip on the last week? Can't they give us any time to finish all the damn assignments they give us to complete before the year ends, yeah?"

Sally waved her hand as she walked out of the room in the midst of Gabe's hollering. Riker scowled once again and rolled over on his bed. "Fucker!" He growled under his breath. "He's playing _poker_, dammit! What could possibly be so important?" The teen let out an exaggerated sigh, lying on his back for a moment before swinging his legs up and flipping off of the mattress. He sauntered over to the closet and stripped off his school uniform, sneering at it as it fell to the floor. "Stupid school, damn board of administrators. Uniforms, who needs them?" He grumbled lowly to himself as he tore open his closet door and took out his usual outfit—which consisted of black jeans(not skinny jeans—he wasn't a _girl_, for crying out loud, but he didn't like pants flopping all around his calves when he walked) that tucked into black combat boots that went up to his knees with buckles and very thin chains instead of laces. He pulled a tight, white wife beater over his head, then slipped on his chain mail shirt that fit nice and snug, hugging his rather nicely formed muscles. Over that went a black leather jacket and a chain around the neck holding a silver pendant shaped like a star with the kanji for chaos inked on it in black.

Riker stumbled over to the mirror than hung on the wall across the room and stared at his reflection. His hair was pitch black and spiky, short in the back with two, not particularly long bangs that hung on either side of his face. His skin was slightly tan form the summers spent at the beach, and his green-blue eyes sparkled so brightly that it had to be illegal _somewhere_. He had a small, gold hoop pierced though the cartilage near the top of his left ear, and a small, silver stud shaped like a star to match his pendant in the lobe of his right. He tilted his head to the right and reached down to slide his shirt up and turned slightly, grinning when he saw the black, beautifully inked tattoo on his hip. It was a white skull with a crack in the crown, with the kanji for destruction, war, and victory situated around it. The eye sockets were suck a deep black that it made the rest of the art pop out at you, looking undeniably realistic.

Sure, it was a bit much for a twelve year old, but that didn't exactly matter to Riker, or his pals. And Sally supported her son in whatever road he wanted to take, even if she didn't necessarily approve wholeheartedly. "This is me," Riker once told her, and she had to agree, if only slightly.

Plus, Riker looked about two years older than he actually was. That helped a bit. Kind of.

"Punk!" Riker's expression darkened as Gabe's voice sounded again, this time calling for the younger Jackson. "Get in here!"

Riker threw his hands up, storming into the front room. He'd had enough for today. "Listen, asswipe! I don't care what you have to say! Stuff that damned mouth of yours with those disgusting nachos and shut the hell _up_!"

oOoOo

"Percy!" A voice bleated over the chaos that was the School corridor, as the students got ready to leave for the field trip to the local museum. Riker felt his eyes twitch, and he turned around to see a nerdy, wimpy looking teen with the start of a intensely scraggly beard stumbling over toward him. Riker knew his name was Grover, but he couldn't figure out the last name. Grover had, sometime during the start of the year, hopped into Riker's shadow and now refused to leave. It was annoying, and Riker was extremely frustrated. The pansy just wouldn't leave him be! "Grover," Riker reluctantly replied, seeing the other teens face light up. "How... nice, to see you." Sure, he didn't like the other male at all, not really, but he wasn't an asshole. He could tolerate him, just enough tat he didn't hurt the other boy's feelings. That may make him sound soft, but he just didn't want to come out as a jackass. "_What_ have I told you about calling me by that name, yeah?"

Grover winced as he approached, wobbling just slightly. Riker resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Grover couldn't do PE since he had some type of bone disease in his legs, but Riker wasn't convinced. He'd seen the wimp book it during Enchilada Thursday in the cafeteria. It was like a cheetah racing after a bloody antelope. Grover ate like it, too. It was a bit disturbing. "Sorry, Riker. I forgot."

"Well, don't do it again!" Riker smacked the boy on the back of the head, then watched with a smirk as the shorter teen moved like lightning and stopped his hat from flying off, eyes looking panicked. Riker wasn't sure what Grover was hiding, but the wimp sure kept it under tight security. "And how many times have I asked—why the hell are you following me all the freaking time, yeah? You're like a stalker and, no offense, man, but you're creeping me out." He held out his hands as if to calm a wild animal when indirectly insulting the boy, but Grover waved it away.

"Sorry, Pe—Riker," the teen cringed as Riker glared at him dangerously. "I just wanna hand out with you, ya know? We're friends, right?"

"... Right..." Riker responded, doubtiously, but Grover didn't seem to notice. "Okay! Let's go, they're loading up the bus, see?" He pointed, and Riker spun on his heel waving a hand in the air to dismiss the other boy. "Whatever."

The ride to the museum was pretty uneventful, unless you counted a girl, you was crushing hard on Riker, by the way, chucking ketchup sandwiches at the back of Grover's head exciting. Nancy was a tough-type bulky girl, but she was pretty much queen of Yancy, according to the social ladder. Riker was king, of course—it was pretty obvious, really-but the teen really didn't care enough to even notice.

Things did get a little tense, though, when one of the lunch missiles swerved and accidentally hit Riker instead. A look of horror passed across Nancy's face, and all the kids who saw immediately cringed away. Riker just turned to glare at the girl, though, and everyone relaxed once the raven-haired teen shoved Grover _good-naturally_ off of the bus seat and into the isle. Though, to be fair, Grover just dusted himself off and sat back down with a grin. Riker fought off the urge to just give in and let his eyebrow twitch, but it was almost a loosing battle.

"Everyone off!" Mrs. Dodds, their math teacher, roared in her dry,irritated voice. All of the student stampeded toward the sliding yellow door. Riker hopped up onto his seat and raced across the tops of the bus benches. Some students who still weren't used to him stopped and stared with slightly slack jaws, but Riker only smirked at them then flipped forward through the door. Parkour and freestyle only made him _that_ much more awesome than he already was, and he was a master of both.

"Riker!" Nancy called out, rushing after him as he came to a stop at the fountain. Riker rolled his eyes discreetly, but decided to put on a show, lest he lose his position of king. After all, the king must associate with the queen sometimes, right?

"'Allo, sweetheart." Riker slipped an arm around the girls waist and the other girls around them tittered in jealousy, but Nancy's eyes shone in excitement. Riker smirked. "And what did you need, yeah?"

Nancy shook her head and giggled. "Nn-nothing! I just wanted to walk with you! Wanna... wanna partner up for the tour?" Riker saw Grover frown out of the corner of his eye, and he grinned. "That would be fabulous, I think. Sure." He shrugged as the girl cheered and raced of, giggling with her posse as they loitered around and picked the pockets of the nearby tourists.

"Yo," Riker turned to stare at Grover as he spoke. "Problem?"

Grover quickly raised an eyebrow, masking the frown he'd had on only seconds before. "No. What?"

Riker rolled his eyes. "You wanted to be my partner, didn't ya?"

Grover crossed his arms. "Well, maybe, yeah. But that's fine. I don't care."

Riker raised his own eyebrow and shrugged. "Sure, whatever." But as he turned, he saw that worried look on Grover's face, and he felt just a pang of guilt. But he quickly brushed it off and continued on his way, lining up with the other kids as they made to enter the museum.

**oOoOo**

"—and can someone tell me who Kronos was?" Mr. Brunner, a stringy brown haired man who sat in a wheelchair raised an eyebrow t the group. "Anyone? Ah, Mr. Jackson. Do you mind?"

Riker blinked as he was brought of of his boredom-insituated daze, then focused on the teacher. "Mmm..." He rolled his eyes, "Hn. Kronos was the Titan lord of Time. He had a wife named Rhea, and he was the father of most of the gods and goddesses, like Poseidon, Hades, Hestia, all that. He had shi—ps for brains, though, and ate his children cuz he thought they'd betray him and take his throne, blah blah blah—you're run-of-the mill psycho king with superiority complex, yeah. Even though he was scared of his kids taking over, he stupidly had another kid anyway—as I said, a moron—and Rhea didn't like the fact that he ate her children, so she gave him a rock covered in, like, mustard or somthing-I forgot," he shamelessly clarified to the disappointed look on Mr. Briunner's voice, and grinned as the students around him snickered. "Anyway, Kronos was _so_ stupid, that he proves my point by eating the rock instead of the id, who turned out to be Zeus. Kronos' kids were immortal, being gods and goddesses, that they were growing up in his stomach since they couldn't be digested. What a terrible childhood to have, yeah?" Riker cackled. "So, uh-huh. Zues grew up, blah blah, he battled his dad eventually, blah blah, he won, chopped his pops into a thousand pieces and threw his mangled body into the pits of Tartar Sauce—or Tards, Tartarus, yeah. The end!" The teen smiled cheekily at the crippled teacher, who only sighed as the children around them giggled and laughed.

"That.. is correct." Mr Brunner sighed, then rolled his wheelchair over to the next exhibit. Riker followed him, his arm loosely wrapped around Nancy's shoulders. He'd eventually get tired and ditch her somehow, but for now he was content at the jealous looks that the other males sent him.

This one was a tombstone of some long-dead Greek girl, but Riker frowned slightly as he saw the expression on Mr. Brunner's face. Like he'd known the girl.

Yeah, right.

Eventually they went back outside for lunch, and Riker entertained his audience by shoving a very quick to forgive Grover into the fountain. He was led inside by Mrs. Dodds in the midst of the laughing students. It's not like he wanted to follow the hag, but he wanted to avoid suspension or expulsion anyway. His mom would be disappointed his he ditched this school as well.

Mrs. Dodds turned to him as they entered an empty exhibit, and Riker had the distracted thought that being completely along with her like this might have been a bit illegal on her part, but he shrugged it off and tuned into the old lady's rant. It was something about him being a thief—nothing new, of course—and that the gods would punish him. Scrawny little son of Poseidon he was.

Riker paused, then blinked slowly and focused on Mrs. Dodds—he was beginning to suspect that that wasn't who she actually was—as she finished he rant and looked at him expectantly. "Give it back, you filthy half-blood!"

Riker raised an eyebrow. "Uh... meh? You okay, lady?" Scratch that, she seemed a bit off her rocker. "What you talking about, yeah?"

"Don't play dumb with me, Son of Poseidon!" The hag screeched and jumped back a good fifteen feet. And as Riker stood, strongly impressed—she was totally fit for an old grandma—the lady turned into an _actual_ hag. "Return what you stole and perhaps Lord Hades will make your death quick!"

Riker observed her for a few seconds, before letting out a long suffering sigh and plopped down on the floor, Indian style. The hag—a real hag, would you believe it?—stopped short and glared at him, slightly puzzled. He shrugged at her. "Oi, I have no clue what you're going on about, lady... whatever you are. You're talking like the Greek myths are real or something."

The hag shrieked in rage. "They are, you twat! Now _die_!"

And as his math teacher suddenly grew wings and very sharp and deadly-looking claws, Riker had the vague thought that, maybe, he would actually die today. Huh.


	2. Fruit Stand of Destiny

_I have never really though abut it. How I would die. If I ever had, I'm guessing that I'd ask a few questions, sure. Where would it be? Who would I be with? When would it happen? How?_

_And, even though I haven't really thought to ever ask myself those questions, I already have all the answers._

_At the museum._

_With my math teacher._

_Sometime after lunch. Not really sure what time it was._

_Math teacher transforms into a hag and claws my insides out._

_Yeah. It wasn't sounding too dignified for me. But, hey, at least I went in a pretty unique way, right?_

**Chapter Two**

As the math-teacher-turned-hag readied herself for another swoop, Riker's brain caught up with him, and he realized—_This is actually happening! You lucky bastard!_

Because, honestly, how many teens dreamed about getting the chance to off their math teacher? And here he was! _Dream come true!_

"Stay still and let me kill you, half-blood scum!" The hag shrieked. Riker raised an eyebrow at her—was it even _female_? Did it _have_ a gender? He shuddered—and the teen scoffed. "As if, bitch! Bastard? Ugh. Whatever!"

The hag screamed at him in rage, and Riker ducked an incoming swoop. He cheered. "Whoohoo! This is awesome!" _I'm fighting a hag... Fighting a hag... Haha! _He cackled.

"Percy!" A voice that Riker would have never dreamed to hear in a situation like this, ever, called out, and Riker turned. "Grover? … Mr. Brunner?" Unfortunately, the hag took his distraction to her advantage, and Riker narrowly missed getting his head lopped of. "What are _you_ doing here?"

They didn't reply. Instead, "Catch, Mr. Jackson—" and Mr. Brunner threw something at him. Riker caught it.

"A... pen?"

The crippled teacher nodded seriously. "Take this to defend yourself. It's a powerful weapon. Guard it well. Only use it in times of severe distress."

Riker blinked, slowly. "This.. is a pen. This is a _pen_." Grover nodded at him.

Riker huffed. "Some help you two were... Now go away! Lemme die in peace!" He spun around and started laughing. "C'mon, grandma! Bite me!"

The hag swooped down once more, and Mr. Brunner shouted. "The pen, Mr. Jackson! Uncap it!"

_It's just a freaking pen! _Riker rolled his eyes, but uncapped it. His eyes widened. "And poof! Shakespeare, come alive!" He grinned, and charged the hag, burying the sword up to the hilt in her chest. "Aw, yeah!" He spun around, and frowned.

Mr. Brunner and Grover were gone.

"Oi!"

oOoOo

"Riker!" Nancy pranced over to him. He held out an arm, and she clung to it. "Oh, I hope Mrs. Kerr didn't suspend you or anything!"

Riker paused, raising an eyebrow at her. "Kerr? Who's that? I thought her name was Mrs. _Dodds_ or something..."

Nancy and the other students laughed. "I guess her name isn't really important." But Riker frowned. He'd heard her call her "Mrs. Dodds" only that morning. Had something... happened? Well, aside from him killing his math teacher... _Holy shit, _he grinned. _I killed my math teacher!_

Was this what happened when a student brought that particular dream to life? Did the Math teacher Society or something just replace the math teacher? It must have been Mr. Brunner...

Riker looked at the teacher, fingering the pen in the pocket of his jacket. It was a nice pen... He loved it. Perhaps, if he was a better person, he'd return it—it was—_had been_—Mr. Brunner's hadn't it?—but he _really_ wanted to keep it...

"Ah, Mr. Jackson." Suddenly, Mr. Brunner was in front of him. "My pen, if you would?"

Riker started; he hadn't realized he'd taken the pen out of his pocket and was now twirling it in his fingers absentmindedly. The teen stared at his expectant teacher, then slowly, as the man watched, slipped the pen back in his pocket. "What pen?"

Mr. Brunner frowned, and examined him for a few moments. And in those few moments, Riker felt as if his very soul was being scanned by those sharp, ancient looking eyes. And Riker wasn't one to be poetic, so that was saying something. The dude freaked him out—but he _did_ give him a awesome pen... So he decided the point was balanced out.

Eventually, Mr. Brunner shook his head. "Please bring your own writing utensil next time, Mr. Jackson?" And then he wheeled himself away. Riker stared after him.

"... That was creepy..." Nancy commented, after awhile, and Riker nodded in agreement.

Mr. Brunner was really old, he'd finally realized.

Hey, maybe he had known that dead Greek girl after all.

oOoOo

"—_They found him. He's in danger."_

"_A Kindly One! They sent a Kindly One __**here**__!"_

"_We will have to be very careful, these next few days. Riker remains unaffected by the Mist we used to __cover "Mrs. Dodds'" disappearance.I do not know how much longer he will let it lie."_

"_I told you he was powerful, Chiron. I'm really glad you came down here. I wouldn't have known what to do."_

"_Thank you for notifying me, Grover. At times like this, it is best to have all of our aces close to us—and Mr. Jackson is most definitely an Ace in the hole."_

_I didn't know he played golf._

Riker was on the bus home. School was finally over, and he hadn't been expelled. He didn't want to go back there next year, though. Huh, Nancy and some other girls would be disappointed, maybe, but Riker couldn't seem to care. He was still mulling over the conversation he'd overheard between Grover, who sat next to him, bouncing nervously, and Mr. Brunner—or Chiron? Wasn't he that horse-centaur guy from mythology?

Grover was nervous. He kept fidgeting, and looking around. Riker was starting to get annoyed. He leaned back in his seat and braced one arm across the back of the bus seat. "Looking for Kindly Ones?" He drawled casually.

Grover nearly jumped out of his seat "Wha—what do you mean?"

Riker told him about his eavesdropping, and Grover sunk down in his seat. "H-How much did you hear?"

"Oh..." Riker tilted his head back and thought for a moment. "Not much... What's the summer solstice deadline for?"

Grover winced. "Percy—_Riker_." He corrected himself. "I was just worried for you, see? I mean, you were hallucinating about demon math teachers ..."

"Grover, man, listen." Riker held up a hand, and his demanding attitude made Grover stop to listen. "You, my stalker, are a really, _really_ bad liar..." He tilted head head to the side. uncaring.

Grover's ears turned pink. From his shirt pocket, he fished out a grubby business card. "Just take this, okay? In case you need me this summer."

_Grover Underwood_

_Keeper_

_Half-Blood Hill_

_Long Island, New York_

_(800)009-0009_

Riker raised an eyebrow. "What's this?"

"It's my.. um, my summer address!" Grover yelped when Riker reached over to twist his ear. "Uh _huh_. So tell me... What the fuck is a keeper? Is this some kind of crappy romance camp? What the hell, man?"

"No," Grover groaned, flopping down in his seat. "It's just.. A house I stay at, during the summer."

Riker rolled his eyes. "Right, sure. So.. if I wanted to freeload at your mansion or something, right?"

Grover nodded hesitantly. "Or.. or if you ever needed me.."

"Why the hell would I _need_ you?" Riker snapped, irritated. He wasn't some kid! Thouh, he kind of wanted to take the words back when he saw the hurt look in Grover's eyes. Almost. Not _really_. _**Nope**_...

Grover blushed. "Look, Riker, the truth is, I—I kind of have to protect you..." Riker looked at him oddly. He was the one who had to protect _Grover_ back in the school.

"_Riiight_... Tell me, Grover; what are you protecting me from, yeah?" Riker glared. "I can take of my own damn self, you know."

There was a huge grinding noise under our feet. Black smoke poured from the dashboard and the bus filled with a smell like rotten eggs. The driver cursed and slowly rolled the Greyhound over to the side of the highway. After a few minutes clanking around in the engine compartment, the driver popped back in, and irritated look on his face, and announced, "Everyone out." The two teens filed outside with everybody else.

"Why the hell would someone put a fruit stand in the middle of nowhere?" Riker pointed out, when they were on the stretch of country road with everyone else. Grover's eyes widened as he spotted where Riker was gesturing at. The stuff on sale looked really good—heaping boxes of blood-red cherries and apples, walnuts and apricots, jugs of cider in a claw-foot tub full of ice. There were no customers, though, just three old women sitting in rocking chairs in the shade of a maple tree, knitting the biggest pair of socks Riker had _ever_ seen.. The woman on the right knitted one of them. The woman on the left knitted the other. The woman in the middle held an enormous basket of electric-blue yarn. All three women looked ancient, with pale faces wrinkled like fruit leather, silver hair tied back in white bandana, bony arms sticking out of bleached cotton dresses. The weirdest thing was they seemed to be looking right at Percy.

"Huh. Wow, now I'm really hungry." He glanced back at Grover, who stood frozen staring that the three old women, and began to make his way over to the stand. Grover snapped out of it when Riker was three feet away, and raced after him with a panicked expression. "Percy, _no_!"  
"My _name_," the teen scowled "is _Riker_! Remember it!" He cffed the smaller ten on the back of the head. Grover winced. "S-Sorry. But no! Riker, we have to leave! Let's get back on the bus! Now!"

"Hell no!" Riker yelped. "You serious, man? It's not fixed yet, the driver ordered us the fuck off, and it smells like rotten eggs. Please." He sniffed. "Besides, what you so scared of, wimp? They're just three old ladies. Selling _really_ good looking food. Oi," he spoke to the lady that held the basket of yarn. "What's the cost?"

The woman raised an eyebrow at him, as if wondering who the hell he was. Riker thought, perhaps, that it was because they didn't get many customers despite the good looking food—he'd felt weird when approaching them, like his body wanted to get the fuck away, but his stomach wanted to food. He listened to his stomach. Though, it felt like these ladies knew him.. It was a bit creepy.

"Fifty cents a fruit," she spoke in a raspy voice, like she'd never heard of water before in her long-looking life. "Though, you can get a handful of the cherries for the same, and the cider. We also offer fortune-telling.." She eyes him like he was eying the fruit right then, but Riker was paying attention. Grover looked about to pass out. Riker waved a hand dismissively. "Nah, I'm good. Don't like that crap, no offense. It's my future, and I'll make it whatever I want it to be. I ain't gonna have anyone tell me what's gonna happen. Prophecy shit and all that can go die in a hole. My life, y'know?" He raised an eyebrow, and held up an apricot, an apple, plum, and peach in one hand, and two bags—one of cherries, and a smaller one of walnuts—in the other. "And I'll take three cups of that cider, yeah?"

the three woman had stopped knitting sometime while he was talking, and were now staring at him. The middle one smiled. "Your life, yes. That will be $5.50. Pleasure to do bussiness. We don't get many customers, Riker Adley Jackson."  
Riker stared at them for a second, surprised, then decided that it was just an old lady thing. Still, how had they known his name? "I don't see why," He mused. "This fruit looks awesome, yeah."

The lady knitting the left sock nodded, humming as she filled three bottles with cider, while the lady on the right scoped up some ice. "Yes. This fruit gives you power. We are interested that you are the only one who welcomes it like this. You can change fate—this fate," the lady in the middle hefted up the largest pair of scissors that Riker had yet to lay eyes on, and snipped a strand of the thread as he watched, interested, "you can change."  
"Yeah, sure thing!" Riker waved as he pushed his purchase into Grover's trembling hands, and reached for the bottles of cider, exchanging money with the lady in the middle. These ladies wierded him out, a bit, but he liked the conversation they'd had. They weren't too bad, like _some_ old people he'd met. The lady holding the basket handed him their card, and Riker dragged Grover away, waving cheerfully.

When they reached the other side of the road again, Riker snapped his eyes to Grover, who was white and shaking. "What, you got grandma-phobia or some shit?" He asked. "Chillax, Grover! I got _food_, see? You _like_ food!"

"No, Riker, y-you don't understan—"

At the rear of the bus, the driver wrenched a big chunk of smoking metal out of the engine compartment.

The bus shuddered, and the engine roared back to life. The passengers cheered., and Riker pumped a fist into the air, grinning. "Whoohoo!"  
"Darn right!" Yelled the driver in response, and the passengers laughed. The man slapped the bus with his hat. "Everybody back on board!"

* * *

**There might be a truck-load of mistakes. I'm getting lazy, sorry XD**

**There's a poll on my profile, i would really appreciate it if you guys voted on it, thanks!**

**Review, please!**

**~Scylar X.**


	3. That Guy's A Real Ass

_I ditched Grover at the bus station, after he took a trip to the bathroom. _

_Honestly, he was beginning to weird me out._

_School year was over anyway. It was about damn time for me to leave that crazy stalker behind me._

_Maybe if I'd known this would happen? Would I have kept him around, especially if I'd known what, exactly, he was?_

_... Nah, I doubt it. _

_That sentence sounded cliché anyway._

**Chapter Three**

Riker's mom's apartment was somewhere in Queens. He didn't really mind it. It was home, he grew up here. Well, here and that awesome cabin in Montuak, during the summers. Still, the apartment wasn't exactly luxurious, and there were times when Riker would wish they'd lived somewhere more... well, less ghetto.

But that didn't really bother him all that much anymore. People like him were found in the ghetto. This, this was...

"Honey, I'm _home_!" Riker let the world be hollered from his lips as he slammed apartment 27B's door open. It crashed into the wall and he took a confident step across the threshold.

"Punk! How many times to I have to tell ya not to do that?!"

Yeah, it was his home. No matter what disgusting, rotting pig lived there with him.

"Oh, I wouldn't know," Riker rolled his eyes. Maybe his mother wasn't home from work yet? The hog seemed more irritable, like he hadn't had his Mexican food yet. "I never listen when you do. You should know this by now, fucker. Riker Jackson don't listen to _no_ lowlife." He walked up to the man's poker table—where three other obese men sat—and lifted a leg, letting his combat boot come thundering down on Gabe's hold of cards. It was a trashy hand anyway. The jackass should be thanking him, really. "_Especially_ one that fucks up me and my mum's life, yeah?"

"Shitty little brat," Gabe muttered, shoving Riker's foot off the table. He held out an grubby, expectant hand to the teen. "Give me that money for this next round."

Riker drew himself back room the offending limb. "_Excuse_ me, bastard? What money? Even if I had some, _why_ would I fucking give it to you?"

Gabe managed the electronics Mega-Market in Queens, near the apartment He'd actually gotten fatter while Riker had been away at school, even if the teen had only been gone since that morning. He had only three hairs on his head, all combed back as if that made him better looking. His clothes consisted of a baggy white wife-beater, almost soaked in sweat, grime and grease from any fast-food you can name, and gray sweatpants with the same coating, plus some. It made Riker want to wrinkle his nose and shoot the guy with a hydra-pressured water hose.

The obese poker player raised a greasy eyebrow at the teen, who only crossed his arms in defiant. "What the fuck you lookin' at me like that for, you ass?"

"You took a taxi from the bus station, probably paid with a twenty." He said, "You got six, seven bucks in change. Somebody expects to live under this roof, he's gotta carry his own weight. Am I right, Eddie?"

Eddie was the super of their apartment building, and he cast a look of sympathy at Riker, who only clenched his fists at the thought of being pitied. "Come on, Gabe. The kid just got here."

Gabe glared at the guy. "Am I _right_, Eddie?"

Eddie only scowled into his bowl of pretzels, choosing to say nothing. The other two guys glanced at each other, before beginning a battle for the last slice of pepperoni pizza.

Riker only stared at his so-called step-father in no-less shock than he would give a purple and pink polka-dotted kangaroo. "Well, holy shit. Draw me a manga and call me Kishimoto, the guy can do _math_! As in, actual _math_!" The teen turned to Eddie, who gave him a thin, but amused, smile. "Eddie, did you know this?!"

Eddie let out a single chuckle before turning it into a cough as he drew another card from the deck.

Riker threw up his hands and sent Gabe a heated glare. "No way in hell, fucker, am I funding your poker addiction. So dream on." He spun around and stormed off to his room.

"Your report card just came in, brain boy!" Gabe yelled after him. "I wouldn't be so damn snooty!"

"Can't he think of a better insult?" Riker groaned to himself as he slammed the door to his room, falling onto the bed. "He can't even do _that_ right! Honestly, why the fuck did mom ever agree to marry this sleezebag?!"

Riker froze, laid out straight on his bed, his shoulders pressing into the mattress, muscles locked in tension.

Maybe it was because of him?

Was this his fault?

He didn't know how, but it might be true. Gabe was here because of... _him_?

It didn't make any sense, but Riker couldn't think of any other reason that Sally put up with Gabe. She sure as hell didn't love him, Riker wasn't fooling himself or Gabe for that.

The teen clenched his fists, letting out a low growl from the back of his throat. "Fucker gonna die," he hissed out, hand flying toward the top drawer of his nightstand. It was his special drawer. Holding all of his... well, sharper belongings.

He stared at his open hand for a moment, not even sitting up from his position. His hand reached only half a foot from the table-top, much less able to open the drawer without him moving. Slowly, he clenched the hand into a fist and pounding it to his side, deeply into his black comforter. He let out a strangled sigh and shook his head, squeezing his eye closed. He felt hot, warm, and sweaty, like he'd come down with a fever all of a sudden. The sound of yarn snipping sounding in his mind, and he had a sudden flashback to the three old ladies' fruit stand on the side of the road. He didn't think that sound could ever be described as ominous, but here he was. It made him shiver.

Riker's eyes flew open, then, in a sudden recollection. His fisted hand unclenched and fumbled with the pocket of his jacket, searching until it pressed against a small, rectangular piece of card stock. He pulled it out and brought it in front of his face, squinting at the fancy script. So many times before he'd cursed his dyslexia, but not as much as now. Slowly but surely, like they were wiggling across Jell-O, the letters repositioned themselves until they made out clear words. And numbers, actually.

_The Three Fates_

_Road-Side Fruit Stand of Destiny_

_(XXX,XXX,XXXX)_

_[only call in dire circumstances]_

_[or if you need a snack]_

Riker blinked. Well, check it out, he'd been right. Those three grandma's were loopy in the head after all. "I mean, Fruit Stand of Destiny? What the fuck?"

"Riker!" A woman's voice called from his door, "How many _times_ have I spoken to you about cussing like that?!"

Riker jumped up from his bed and looked to the hall. His face broke into a smile. "Mom!"

Sally Jackson gave him a tired smile, shaking her head. "What am I going to do with you?" But she came across the threshold and wrapped Riker in a hug anyway.

Riker's mother could make him feel good just by walking into the room. Her eyes were always sparkling and changing color in the light. Her smile was as warm as a summer night toasting marshmallows around a fire. She had a few gray hairs mixed in with her thick chocolate mane, but Riker had never once thought of her as old. The only wrinkles she had were the crinkles at the edge of her gray eyes from smiling so much, and she smelled like the candy shop she worked in every day and the cookies she would bake at night. When she looked at Riker, it was like she was only seeing all of the good things about him, and never the bad things.

He'd never heard her raise her voice or say any unkind word to anyone, not even to him or Gabe.

"Hey, honey." Sally gave him a heart-warming smile. "Welcome home."

"You too, mom." Riker grinned, before flopping back down onto his bed with a dramatic sigh. Sally gave a roll of her eyes and sat down next to his sprawled out form. "How was school? It was your last day. I hope you didn't get into any trouble." But her eyes were shining along with her smile, and Riker knew she was only teasing. Even if he'd told her he'd gotten expelled, he didn't think she'd think any less of him. That's one of the reasons he loved her so much.

Riker breathe in the scent of his mother, and gave a smirk. Sally's red-white-and-blue Sweet on America uniformed smelled like all the best things in the world; chocolate, _licorice_, taffy, and all the other things she sold at the shop at Grand Central. In her hand was a large bag filled with samples for him, like she always got him at the end of a school-year.

"I survived," he finally replied, slipping the strange old ladies' business card into his the back pocket of his school uniform. He'd think on it later, especially once he was dressed in a more suitable outfit than this. "I wasn't expelled or anything, and my final scores weren't _that_ bad."

"You're a smart boy, Riker," she told him knowingly. "Sometimes I'd imagine you fail tests on purpose!"

"Mom!" Riker whined, bringing up his hands as if to defend himself from an oncoming attack. "I've never outright _failed_ a test! It's always a C or higher!"

Sally gave a laugh—it sounded like the tinkling silver bells that they hung for the Macy's Parade, and in the streets around Christmastime. Riker loved that about her, too. "I know, sweetheart, I'm only teasing you."

She reached over to tousle his hair while Riker attacked the box of black licorice. She'd always bring three of those, and he'd finish one before everything else, after he was done with the rest, and save the last for later. He'd never finished the entire bag in a single week before. Sally wouldn't let him.

"Mom! Stop! You know I hate that!" Riker huffed, before chuckling and swiping playfully at her hand. Here with her, with his mother, he didn't have to worry about keeping up the King of the Popularity Ladder act, or making sure everything anyone saw him do was the coolest thing they could think of to see. With his mother, he could just be himself. Well, most of himself.

She still wouldn't let him curse, dammit.

He shook his head, letting his hair fall back into place like it always did when he had this style, and told the woman she was smothering him. Sally only laughed, and they both knew Riker secretly was very, very glad to see her and didn't actually mind her so-called "smothering."

"Sally!" Gabe's voice suddenly called from the other room. "Hey—how about some bean dip, huh?"

Riker leaned against the bed's headboard and let a scowl come across his features. "That guy..." He growled voice trailing off in the end. He knew his mother didn't appreciate foul language, but Gabe deserved it!

Sally only gave him a knowingly look, before shaking her head. But Riker crossed his arms. His mom was th coolest lady in the fabric of reality(he'd put a patent on that phrase, one day. So he swore). She deserved to marry a billionaire, not some dickless bastard like Gabe.

"I didn't mind it all, really," Riker shrugged, choosing to ignore the elephant that was Gabe in the room. "But I don't think I wanna go back to Yancy next year."

Sally tilted her head with a small frown, and Riker immediately looked for someone to punch to wipe the look off her face. "Why?"

"It's just..." Riker gave a sigh and looked to the side. "It's nothing. Never mind. I'll go."

"Riker," his mom leaned forward and set a hand on his arm. "What's wrong with Yancy, sweetheart? It's okay to tell me. I can look for another school."

That was exactly the reason Riker didn't want to tell her in the first place. His mother tried so hard to give him the best. He didn't think they had the budget to have him switch schools entirely. Not since Gabe intruded into their lives. Before, Riker would go to a different school every year since the beginning of his education. It was like a streak. Some instances it was because he'd been expelled, but most of the time Riker just wanted to get to somewhere new and untouched by him. Another fresh-start. He liked wiping the slate clean and starting over. It was refreshing.

But Sally's eyes tugged at Riker's conscience, trying to pull out his secrets. "Did something scare you?"

Riker sat up, staring at her with wide eyes. "What? No! Mom, why would you think that?" he shook his head, flopping back into the bed in defeat. "Nah. It isn't really any different from any of those other times, y'know? I just didn't think it would be possible... now. Not with... everything that's happened, yeah."

Sally's gray eyes flashed, and Riker knew she understood what he meant. A Mr. Ugliano.

Riker thanked any deity that was out there that Sally hadn't taken his last name when she'd... Ugh... married him.

Still. Riker wanted to tell her about Mrs. Dodds, or the three old ladies, or how Grover acted toward the end of the year—despite how little he really cared about any of it; it was just weird!—but he thought it sounded just too... crazy. He'd been a little frightened, actually, when he realized that everyone else wasn't joking about that Mrs. Kerr, and that no one really remembered the -turned-hag. It was like, when he'd killed her, she'd _disappeared_ from their memories.

That was also another reason. Despite her turning into a hag—which Riker wasn't entirely sure he'd seen(or he wouldn't be, if Grover hadn't been so terrible at lying to him) anymore—he'd still _killed_ her. He wasn't too certain how his mother would take that...

Sally pursed her lips, and Riker just sank down in his seat, smiling sheepishly. "Heh."

She knew he was holding a lot back, but she didn't push him for answers.

Riker would most likely spill the beans sometimes anyway. He'd always been horrible at keeping secrets from his mother.

But this one... it was just too much. She'd never believe him.

Sally shook her head as if to clear her thoughts, then gave him a gleaming smile. "I've got a surprise for you." She said in a sing-song.

Riker tilted her head, like she'd done earlier, but there was a curious look on his face.

"Where going to the beach!"

Slowly, a grin formed on his lips. "Montuak?"

Sally held a finger to her lips and chuckled. "Three nights, same cabin."

He leaned forward, gripping the sheets. "When?" He could barely keep from vibrating in excitement. Finally, no Smelly Gabe to see when he walked through the door! For three whole entire days, plus some hours! How much better could it get?

"As soon as I get changed," Sally's smile had grown, and she stood up from the bed.

Riker just couldn't believe his luck. They hadn't been to Montuak for the last two summers, because Gabe had said there wasn't enough money. It was probably because he was hoarding it all for himself and spent it on beer and nachos(it was the really cheap kind of nachos, too. With the artificial cheese, pre-sauced, that tasted like plastic and dairy), and Riker still wanted to punch his lights out for it. Just like Gabe had done to him when he had more muscle, the first time Riker refused to fund his poker game. When Riker had woken up, he'd quickly established that even _touching_ Riker, or his mother, was a _big_ no-no in the Jackson household.

Safe to say, Gabe had learned his lesson.

Still, just until Sally was ready for Montuak, and then they'd be out of this hellhole that his childhood home had become despite his mother's presence.

Gabe made an appearance in the doorway, and Riker growled. One centimeter over that threshold, and Gabe would be sleeping for the next week, via his fist. That was another House Rule. No Gabe in Riker's room. "Bean dip, Sally? Didn't you hear me?"

Sometimes, Riker wanted to just call the police and report Gabe as a child molester, wife-abuser, and frame him for theft despite him not having done any of such(that Riker knew of). At least that would get the fucker out of his life forever.

Sally gave Riker a look, though, and Riker let out a reluctant sigh. He understood. It was a he'd told himself before. Just until Sally was ready. Then, they'd be home-free. Literally. Home-free, and _Gabe-free._ It was a dream worth fighting for, tooth-and-nail.

"I was on my way, dear," Riker wanted to gag. He knew Sally didn't have an ounce of feelings for Gabe, so why she called him such names eluded him. "We were just talking about the trip."

Gabe's eyes grew small, and he started to lean forward," but Riker let out an low, almost animalistic growl in warning. The man(or walrus, Riker was having trouble decided sometimes) quickly reeled back into the hallway. "The trip? You mean, you were serious about that?"

Riker scoffed. As if Sally would _ever_ joke about _Montuak_!

"Knew it," Riker mumbled to himself. "Bastard won't let us go."

But, lo-and-behold, his mother had heard him, because she replied evenly, "Of course he will. Your step-father is just worried about money That's all. Besides," she added. "Gabriel won't have to settle for just bean-dip. I'll make him enough seven-layer dip for the whole weekend. Guacamole. Sour cream. The works."

Gabe's eyes gained a gleaming glint of eagerness in them. And it made Riker sick. But he'd be away from the man. He just had to wait it out, just a little longer. "So, this money for your trip... It comes out of your clothes budget, right?"

Dafuq? Hell to the no! Riker wanted to rip the man a new one for that. So he could mooch money off of him for poker and waste their allowance of beer, but his mother had to pay for a vacation with the money she set aside for her clothes?

Yes. Riker had already decided long ago, but it was officially confirmed now. The man will _die_.

"Yes, dear." His mother said. Riker wished that he had her patience. He was beginning to vibrate again.

"And you won't take my car anywhere but there and back?"

_That ugly thing?_ Riker rolled his eyes. _Bitch, scratches would make it look __**better**__!_

"We'll be very careful."

Gabe scratched his double chin. "Maybe if you hurry with that seven-layer bean dip..." he said, "and, maybe if the brat apologizes for interrupting my poker game."

"Maybe if I kick you in the balls," Riker almost purred at the thought, "and make you sing soprano for a week."_ I walked through the fucking front __**door**__, jackass._

Sally hushed him, and gave Gabe a smile. "Of course he will. Won't you, Riker?"

Riker crossed his arms and scowled.

"Riker."

He hissed out a stressed breath. "Uh-huh. I apologize, bastard, for interrupting your very important poker game by walking into my own home. You must have been devastated. I'm sure it was incredibly important to you. Go back to it right now."

Gabe stared at him. Like his pea-sized brain was attempting to detect any hint of sarcasm in the statement. Riker doubted it, though. Throughout that entire address, he'd kept an eerily straight face and didn't even change from the monotone he'd began it in.

"Whatever," Gabe mumbled. He went back to his game.

_Yes, minion._ Riker mentally cackled. _Obey your master's orders at once!_

Sally let out a sigh, her face twisting down for a moment. "Thank you, Riker. Once we get to Montuak, we can talk about... whatever you've forgotten to tell me, okay?" For a moment, the teen thought he saw a hint of anxiety in her gray eyes. The same fear he'd seen in Grover's eyes back when he'd bought that delicious fruit from the three old ladies' road-side stand. As if she felt a terrifying chill in the air.

_Shit_, Riker thought. _She knows_.

Then, however, Sally smiled again, her eyes reverting to their cheerful sparkles, and Riker relaxed. Maybe... Maybe his mother wouldn't think he was crazy? If he told her after all?

Sally ruffled his hair and went to make Gabe his seven-layer bean dip.

An hour later, Riker slung his backpack over his shoulder and made his way out of his room, locking the bedroom door behind him. He met his mother, and grinned. Off they were.

Gabe took a break from his poker game long enough to watch them lug their bags to the car. He kept griping and groaning about loosing his car for the entire weekend.

"Not one scratch, punk." Gabe said in a warning tone to Riker. "Not one little scratch."

Riker raised a brow. As if the guy drove anywhere in the first place. He lived 24/7 in his own filth. In fact, Riker didn't think he'd ever seen the man even take a shower. He shuddered.

Then, he remembered that he wouldn't be driving either.

He felt slightly disappointed at the lost chance to wreck Gabe's love spectacularly, but there was also irony. That Gabe would threaten him, when the teen was clearly unable to drive.

Well, legally, of course.

As Riker watched Gabe waddle back to the apartment building, he felt his long-time anger spark and flame. He then did something that he, frankly, didn't even expect himself to remember learning. It was a sign he'd actually seen Grover do, many times before. One that warded off evils. He'd thought Grover was just a superstitious freak. But now he wasn't so sure, as he watched the screen door slam shut behind Gabe and clock him on the ass. The man went flying up the stairs as if he'd been shot from a cannon.

Riker blinked, then gave a wicked grin. "Huh. Maybe stalker-boy knew what he was doin' after all?" The tilted his head, then barked out a rough laugh. "_Nah_."

He hopped into the Camaro and glanced at his mother. "Pedal to the metal, mother dear."

Sally only cast him an amused look, before stepping on it.

The rental cabin was on the south shore, way out on the tip of Long Island. It was a large, round thing, with chipping white paint and faded curtains; it had thin walls and was set deep into the dunes. The sheets were always full of sands and the cabinets full of spiders. There was a huge gaping fireplace that took up most of one wall opposite the front door, a narrow side room with half a wall separating it from the main room that was the kitchen, and two more separate rooms with huge, comfy beds and thick quilts and fluffy pillows. It was usually windy outside, especially during the evenings, and the sea was usually too cold to swim in.

Riker absolutely loved it.

He and his mother had been going there since he'd been a baby. Sally even longer. She never exactly mentioned it, but Riker was halfway certain of the reason she loved it so much. It was the place she'd met his vanished father. Riker didn't hold any sort of feelings, good or bad, for the man, but he knew Sally adored him, deeply.

And as they got closer to Montuak, she began to look younger and younger; years of worry and work seemed to just fall of her slim frame. Her deep gray eyes turned the color of the sea, like Riker's were, but a lighter shade, like during the summer instead of the thrashing storm that the teen was defined by.

Once they arrived at sunset, the two opened all the cabin's windows and went through their usual cleaning routine. Riker never really complained about chores, unlike most teens; in fact, he actually enjoyed doing them, especially with his mother. He knew that by cleaning up a little and helping out around the house, maybe even cooking a meal or too, went a long way in taking off the stress form his mother.

Once the finished, the two took a walk down the beach. Riker was barefoot. He'd left his boots, jacket, and fingerless gloves back on his bed and exchanged his jeans for faded blue denim shorts that had used to be jeans, but had had the legs cut off rather raggedly when Riker got too tall for them around a year before. Sally was snug in a gray sweatshirt, a light blue blouse and white capris, also barefooted. She held out a hand and Riker took it, racing her down to the waterfront. Both hopped down on the very edge of the dock and tossed blue corn chips at the seagulls and shared the bag of licorice and taffy and sour strings and everything else that Sally had brought back for Riker from her job at the shoppe.

When it got dark, they made a fire farther back in the dunes. They roasted hot dogs, squash, and marshmallows. Sally told Riker some stories about her life with her parents before they'd been killed in that plane crash when she'd been a little kid. She told about all the books she wanted to write someday, when they had enough money for her to quit the candy shop.

Eventually, Riker got the guts to steer the conversation to the topic that he usually did on very late nights like this. His father. He watched Sally's bright eyes get all misty, and knew she was remembering some of the best years of her life—her words, quote on quote.

"He was kind." She said, with a dreamy look that Riker was more sued to seeing on the girls at school when they realized their crushes for the first time and started staring at the back of the guys' heads in classes. But he thought it suited Sally much more, making her look even younger. Happier. "Tall, handsome, and powerful."

"Like, he was rich or something?" Riker asked, tilting his head to the side with a raised eyebrow.

Sally looked up, blinking. "Well, I guess you could say that."

"Then, why are we so..." The teen shrugged. "Um, less than rich?"

Sally sighed. "Honey, I already—"

"Yeah, I know, I know." Riker rolled his eyes. "He's lost at sea. Not dead, lost at sea. I get it. But, still. Shouldn't we have gotten insurance or something? Especially since he was _lost at sea_. And hasn't come back yet?"

But his mom just gave him a sorrowful look, and Riker decided to shut up about it.

Sally fished out a jelly bean form the bag and handed it to him. "I wish he could see you now, Riker. He'd be so proud."

The teen suddenly felt angry. Not at his mother, but at his father. And himself. "Proud? Of what, a punk?" He let out a halfhearted scoff. "Like, yeah. I totally believe that. You don't have to say that kind of stuff to make me feel better, Mom."

Sally instantly went on to assure him that she didn't see it that way. That she really meant it. But Riker was a bit doubtful. He knew, sometimes. He'd walk past his mother's room in the middle of the night, o get a drink of water or a midnight snack or something, and he'd hear soft sniffles. He hated when his mom cried. One day, he'd find his father and punch him. Twice; once in the gut, and once in the face to give him a real shiner. One day. Since, well, he wasn't dead—just _lost at sea._

But he also blamed himself. He knew he wasn't the best son in the world. He could be better. He could give his mother less problems.

"I'm I going to another one of those boarding schools next year?" Riker began, fiddling with his metal utensil, marshmallow still heating up at the end.

Sally pulled off a fully cooked marshmallow from her own. "Riker? I thought we talked about that three years ago, when you got expelled form the last one. No boarding schools again, remember? That's what we agreed on."

"But you're going to send me away again." Riker could feel it in his gut.

Her shoulders sagged, as if that burden that lifted from them when they got to the beach was back. Riker felt guilty. "I don't know, sweetheart. I think... I think we'll have to do something."

"Because you don't want me around—" Riker froze as soon as the words were out, and Sally had spun around to stare at him, eyes welling with tears. "No, Mom. I didn't mean that. I know you'd never feel that way. Sorry."

But Sally still shook her head furiously. "No, Riker, no—I-I _have_ to. It's for your safety, and... I have to."

"Because I'm not normal." Riker told her, voice flat. Sally winced.

"You say that as if it's a bad thing, hun." She chastised him. "But you don't realize how important you are. I sent you to Yancy since I thought it was close enough to home, but far enough away from..." She cleared her throat, and Riker felt his eyes arrow. She wasn't telling him _something_. "To keep you safe, honey."

"Safe from _what_?!" Riker frowned. "That's what's it! You never tell me!"

Their eyes met. Suddenly, Riker felt all those memories come flooding back to him—all those freaky instances, all the really strange things that had happened to him; things he'd tried to really forget to help along the fantasy that he was just like all the other normal kids(but more awesome). To lie to himself, that he wasn't weird. He wasn't strange. He wasn't crazy...

Third grade. That man in the black trench coat that had stalked him on the playground. When the teachers came out to ask him to leave, threatened to call the police, Riker saw he only had one eye, right in the middle of his head. But his face was hidden in the shadows of his hood, and little Riker didn't want to tell anyone. Maybe he'd just imagined it after all.

And back in preschool. A teacher had set him down for a nap in a cot that held a sleeping snake, with interesting marks decorating it's scaly back. His mother had screamed when she came to pick him up and had found him playing with the limp, stringy rope that he'd strangled to death with his stubby little toddler hands.

In every single school, something creepy like that had happened. That was the real reason Riker always asked to go to a different one every year, or got himself expelled(even though not all of those times were on purpose). But every year, no matter what school he went to. Riker never told his mom. He knew she'd freak.

He knew he should tell Sally about the old ladies at the Fruit Stand of Destiny, and about the Alebra teacher-turned-hag that was Mrs. Dodds. About his weird, maybe hallucination that he'd killed her, Mrs. Dodds, a teacher who no longer existed in memories not records(he's broken into the records room at Yancy. She wasn't listed anywhere). But he couldn't make himself. He had a feeling it would end their trip at Montuak, and Riker never wanted that.

"I tried to keep you as safe as I could." Sally confessed, and Riker's attention was back on her, though he didn't glance up. "They told me it was a mistake. But there's only one other option. Riker—the place where your father wanted to send you. But I—I just couldn't."

Riker frowned. "Father... wanted to send me to a special school?' He clenched a fist.

"Not a school," Sally told him softly. "A summer camp."

Riker blinked. The hell? Why would his dear dad want to send him to a summer camp, before he'd even been born? He mentally shook himself. No way, no fucking way. He wasn't going, even if it had been his father's idea. The man hadn't even stayed for two months after his birth before going on that sea voyage and never coming back.

But still. A summer camp. And why hadn't Sally ever told him before now, if it was that important?

And why did Sally sound scared?

"I'm sorry, sweetheart." His mother looked up at him from behind her lashes. "I don't like talking about it—or, even thinking about it! If I send you there.. I just can't stand to... It might mean saying good-bye to you forever."

Riker's head shot up. "Forever? Mom, it's just a _summer camp_! As in, a once a year thing! Like, during the summer? Then I come home?"

But his mom turned back to the fire, and Riker knew form her expression that if he said any more she would start to cry.

That night. Riker had a real fucked up dream.

It was on the beach, Montuak, where they were now. A horse and an eagle were fighting to the death, it seemed, Thunder rages and lightning flashed. Riker felt like he was suppose to do something, maybe stop the two from their brawl, or something bad would happen. But he scowled when he found he couldn't move to even cross his arms stubbornly. As if. They were fighting, it wasn't his problem. Why should he stop it?

Besides, he wasn't sure what idiot eagle would choose to take on a _horse_. It was painfully obvious the stallion would win.

Somehow, Riker felt that that thought was bias. He didn't even know.

Then, from beneath the sandy dunes, a monsterous voice chuckled. The two warring animals didn't even pause. As if they hadn't heard it. Riker blinked, and glanced at the ground. His vision grew dark then, and he glanced up to see one last scene. The eagle diving down to nail the horse right in the eyes.

He woke up, and was surprised to find himself in a cold sweat. The hell? "Fucking dream wasn't even scary." he muttered. "Still, awesome eagle, getting the damn horse in the eye. That evil laughter was way cooler sounding, though." He rolled himself over and scowled at a pattern on the quilt that covered him, one that was large enough to see in the dark. Everything was black and white, like some old movie. But the ocean sounded just outside the window, and Riker felt himself being lulled right back to sleep.

Then he felt himself waking up again, not even reaching unconscious when he was jerked from his daze by loud bangs on the cabin door. He sat up so fast he almost got whiplash. Outside, it really was storming. Long Island never got hurricanes like this in the summer, but the ocean seemed to have forgotten that. Over the howling wind, he heard another sound. An angry, almost tortured sounding bellow that made his hairs stand on end.

And another noise. Like mallets hitting the sand. Someone—the one banging on the door, perhaps, was outside, screaming. Riker blinked, then his eyes widened. Well, hey now. Someone was banging on the door!

He jumped out of bed, still in his sweatpants, bare-chested despite the cold, and raced across the cabin to the door. His hand grasped the handle and jerked the flat sheet of wood open, to see—

"Grover?!" Riker's eye twitched as he stared into his... friends... face, voice hollering over the wind. "Dude, I get that you think I'm your friend and all, but this stalker-stuff—you just took it to a whole new level of creepy!"

"Riker!" Sally shouted from behind him. Riker stood to the side so him mother could come to the door. She stared at Grover for a minute, before pinning her son with a stare. "What happened, at school? What didn't you tell me?"

"Searching all night!" Grover cried over the screaming winds. He was panting as if he'd just finished a long marathon. "What were you thinking?! And you didn't even tell her?!"

His mom turned to look at him in horror. "Riker, what happened at school? Tell me!"

But Riker was frozen, now, looking over at Grover. He couldn't believe what he was seeing.

"_O Zeu kai alloi theoi_, P—Riker! It's right behind me! Why didn't you _tell_ her?!"

Riker ignored them—and the fact that his stalker had just cursed in ancient Greek. And the fact that he'd understood him perfectly. He was still too shocked to even wonder how Grover had gotten their in the middle of the night, much less knew where they were staying(it must've been some secret stalker technique that they only shared with their stalker club).

Because Grover didn't have his pants on.

And where his legs should be...

"Riker!" His mother grabbed him by the shoulder. He'd never seen or heard her this panicked or frightened before. "Tell me _now_!"

He blinked once, before yelling out something about three old ladies that sold really tasty fruit, and then a vague sentence about a crazed math teacher that turned into a shriveled up hag and liked to pick on poor innocent teenagers. Sally's face turned deathly pale, and she scrambled back inside the cabin.

She grabbed her purse, tossed Riker his still un-opened suitcase, and dashed out the door. "get to the car. Both of you—go!"

Grover ran for the Camaro—but he wasn't exactly running. It was this weird trot that was slightly wobbling but still fast as heck, and Riker wondered why he'd never thought of it before aside from the fact that it sounded too crazy for even him to consider, as he ran beside the boy.

And suddenly that cover story—because it could only be a _cover story_, he realized—about Grover's leg muscle disorder made so much sense to him. How the guy could run so fast but still 'limp' when he walked.

Because where Grover's feet should have been... Well, there weren't any feet. There were _hooves_.

"God, you bastard!" Riker shouted over the wind. "You're an _actual_ ass!"

Well, half of one. But that wasn't really important right now.

**I'm sorry for not updating in a long time. School, life, and all those lame excuses *thumbs up***

**I've put up a poll of which pairing Riker should be in. I don't take review votes unless you have a valid excuse for not being able to click on the link to my profile and vote yourself. If you don't have an account to vote, your vote will not be counted. **

**Tankyoo~**

**~Scylar X**


	4. Bull-fighting Instructor Sally Jackson

_My life wasn't what you would call normal. But still, strange happening s aside, my summers weren't usually like this._

_Sometimes me and my mother would go down to Montuak for a week or so. Usually it was a few days here, then another few days later on in the months, over that three month period of no school. My mother was always happiest there, and in turn I was more relaxed._

_I'd spend many afternoons down at the gym, with my gymnastic buddies. They always went on about how I must have been a bird or something in one of my past lives—my flips and tumbles were incredible. Plus, I was so flexible it astounded even the manager of the place._

_One or twice I remember my mother taking me to a mountain to try skiing or snowboarding, back when we had more money. That was fun, and I'm pretty sure it was then that my slight addiction to hot chocolate began._

_But taking part in a high speed chase? My mother sitting in the driver's seat of Gabe's Camaro, hitting the gas like nobody's business and taking dangerous turns like in one of those fast-action movies? My stalker, Grover, sitting next to me in the back, no pants, with hooves? And being chases by some sort of **monster**..._

_No, this wasn't a normal summer for me. _

_But it sure as hell was entertaining._

**Chapter Four**

Wind slammed against the Camaro, rain lashing the windshield. The car tore through the night along the dark country roads. Riker wasn't sure how his mother could see anything, but she kept her foot on the pedal.

Every time there was a flash of lightning, Riker would alternate in casting a glance at Grover, who sat next to him, and twisting around in his seat in an attempt to see whatever it was that was chasing them. He was still wondering if he'd truly gone insane or not. If Grover was just wearing some weird shag carpet pants and metal shoes from the sixties.

But the smell was one he remembered from that lame-ass kindergarten field trip to the petting zoo—lanolin, like from wool. The smell of a damp barnyard animal. Riker so badly wanted to poke some fun at the trembling boy next to him, but he decided that now was not the time. Grover probably wouldn't hear him over the storm anyway.

Not that it stopped him from trying to start a conversation. "Dude, how do you know my mom?"

Grover's eyes flitted toward the review mirror, trying to make out the thing behind them. "We've never exactly met in person." He admitted, hollering over the wind. "But she knew I was watching you."

"You mean my mom knew I had a creepy stalker and never did anything about it?!" Riker asked him incredulously, turning around in his seat to stare at the other teen. "Why were you—ah, _watching_ me, anyway?"

"I was keeping tabs on you, making sure you were okay." Grover hesitated, looking at the shirtless teen—Riker hadn't had the thought o put his jacket on yet—out of the corner of his eye before plowing on. "But I wasn't faking being your friend. I _am_ your friend."

For some reason, Riker suddenly felt slightly guilty about all the times he'd brushed Grover of when the other told him they were _friends, right? _But his mind slapped his guilt in the face and told it to shut up. Now wasn't the time anyway. "So, what exactly _are_ you?"

Grover shook his head. "That doesn't matter right now!"

"It doesn't matter?! From the waist down, my stalker is a _donkey_—"

Suddenly, Grover let out a laugh... or, a "_Bla-ha-ha!_" to be precise. Riker stopped talking to stare at him strangely. He'd heard the guy make the sound before, but he'd always just thought it was only an nervous laugh. Now, he realized it was more of a irritated bleat.

"Goat!"

"_Excuse_ me?" He had the decency to feel offended.

"I'm a _goat _from the waist down!"

Riker blinked before raising an eyebrow. "I _thought_ you just said it didn't matter, huh?"

Grover bleated again. "There are satyrs who would trample you under hoof for such an insult!"

Riker brain blanked out. "Ya mean—satyrs, like from Greek Mythology?"

"Where those old ladies at the fruit stand a _myth_?" Grover asked. "Was—"

"Ah." Riker sat back in his seat, knuckles white from clinging to the seat as his mother took another swerving turn. "... _Ohhhhh_. Makes sense now, in a crazy way. Fruit Stand of _Destiny_. Three old ladies—the Fates. So those were like, the socks of Death?" He mumbled to himself as the puzzle all came together. Maybe he shouldn't have blown off their fortune-telling offer? Nah. He still thought Fate was bull—_no offense, grandmas_.

Grover hadn't heard him over the howling wind, however. "—Mrs. Dodds a _myth_, Riker?"

Riker sat up so fast he might've even gotten whiplash. "Ah! So you admit there was Mrs. Dodds!" he pointed an accusing finger at the nonchalant Grover's direction.

"Of course."

"So why didja—"

"The less you knew, the fewer monsters you attract. Your scent would magnify once you truly acknowledged what you were, Riker." Grover told him as if it should be perfectly obvious. "We put Mist over the mortals' eyes—we'd hoped you would think the Kindly One was just a hallucination. But it didn't work; you started to realize who you were."

Riker was starting to feel angry. Even though he didn't understand all of what Grover was saying, he got the gist of it. He remembered the conversation he'd heard between Mr. Brunner and Grover, and how no one in the entire school—not even the records—remembered the math teacher he'd offed. He twisted in his seat until his icy sea-green eyes were drilling right into Grover, who shifted uncomfortably. "You mean, it was all you? You and... _Chiron_?" He recalled the name Grover had used for Mr. Brunner, and Grover started to pale slightly. Riker scowled. "So I was thinking I was crazy for nothin'? When it was _your_ doing?!"

The strange bellowing noise rose up again behind them—closer than before. The two teens twisted around in their seats to try and get a better view of the thing chasing them, but it was no good. Still, whatever was chasing them was definitely on their trail now.

"Riker," Sally called from the front seat, and Riker startled. He'd almost forgotten she was there; which was silly, since she was the one _driving_ the car. "There's too much to explain and not enough time. We have to get you to safety first, okay?"

Riker leaned forward in his seat, hand moving to gripping the seat in front of him. "Safety from _what_, mom? Come on—now that I _know_ somethings definitely up, why can't you just finally tell me?"

"Oh," Grover huffed, instead. Apparently he was still miffed by the donkey comment. "Nothing much. Just the Lord of the Dead and a few of his bloodthirsty minions."

"_What!?_"

Before Riker could even think of replying, Sally's hold on the steering wheel tightened. "Grover!"

The satyr flinched. "Sorry, Mrs. Jackson." He apologized. "Um, could you drive faster, please?" He turned to look behind them. This time, Riker could just make out a large, hulking figure charging after the car when he glanced back. His heart almost skipped a beat.

Which was strange, the teen scowled, because Riker Jackson was afraid of _nothing_.

Except for his _Dementophobia_, but he wasn't going to go into that.

He tried to wrap his mind around what was happening. He knew it wasn't a dream, despite his very active imagination—not even _he_ could dream up something this weird. He sucked at thinking the details out. He would be a very bad book author, that was for sure.

Sally took a hard left, and the tires squealed like tortured pigs. The Camaro raced past darkened farm houses every few minutes, until they came upon a wooden hillside that stretched on for miles to the shore of Long Island. Soon, they were flying past signs that read "_PICK YOUR OWN STRAWBERRIES,_"nestled along the dull white picket fence.

"Where are we going?" Riker finally asked, mind still thinking on his conversation with Grover. Why would the guy keep something like _this_ form him?

"The summer camp I told you about," Sally's voice was tense, reigned in. Riker could tell she was trying her best not to be scared, for him. And suddenly any resentment toward what Grover and Mr. Brunn—Chiron had done vanished—_somewhat_. This wasn't their fault, it was his. Everything that happened had happened because he was what he was.

And what was he? Riker didn't even know that.

He felt so damn _useless_.

"The place you didn't want to send me," Riker replied, trying to get his mother to see that he didn't want him to go either. What Riker wanted was to stay with his mom. Preferably without the blight on their lives that was Gabe.

"Please, dear," Sally pleaded. "This is hard enough. Try to understand, you're in danger."

"Cause the three Fates sold me fruit?" Riker asked, confused. "It shouldn't be bad or anything—I mean, having no customers would be bad for business. _Someone_ has to buy the stuff." He shrugged "Plus, it was _delicious_. Don't see why—"

"Riker," Grover interrupted him. "Do you know what it _means_, when the _Fates_ appear before you?" His voice was panicked. "They only do that when you're about to... When someone's about to die."

Riker blinked. He turned his head around to stare straight at Grover. "You just said 'you.'" Grover's eyes widened and his face paled even further.

"No I didn't. I said 'someone.'"

Riker shook his head. "You said 'you.' As in, _me_."

"I mean 'you,' like 'someone.' Not you, _you_."

"Boys!" Sally shouted from the front. She jerked the wheel toward the right, and Riker looked up just in time to see that hulking, shadowing form again, still barreling after them.

He spoke up."What was that?"

"We're almost there," Sally said aloud, ignoring her son's question. "Just another mile. Please. Please. Please."

Riker guessed that the so-called 'camp' was somewhere around here, but even he found himself leaning forward in anticipation. Wanting to get to where '_there_' was.

They'd reached the empty country side you got when you get to the tip of Long Island—outside, there was nothing but rain and darkness. Riker felt like he was in one of the horror movies he'd seen on Netflix. Like, at any moment, something would just pop out and total the car and then _bam_, they'd all be dead, half-goat Grover or not.

Then he thought about Mrs. Dodds the math teacher, and huffed in annoyance. So she hadn't been human after all—and she'd _really meant_ to _kill_ him.

Who would _want_ to kill this awesomeness?

Then came along memories about Mr. Bru—Chiron, and then Riker remembered the pen. Or, the pen that could turn into a sword. His hand flew to the pocket of his sports pants. Ever since that day, he'd kept it on his person. It was just too fascinating to him to put it down. Maybe _Chiron_ missed it, maybe not, but Riker didn't care right then. Maybe he could—

The hair rose on the back of his neck. There was a bright flash of light and a whirring sound before the Camaro _exploded_.

Riker remembered a feeling of familiar weightlessness—he'd been in a car crash before, but somehow this was _way_ different—and the heat. Like he was being crushed, roasted, and was drowning all at the same time.

He blinked his eyes open and pulled his head out of the whole in the windshield—maybe he should have buckled himself in, but it had slipped his mind in favor of recent events, labeled as 'unimportant.' The glass was shattered and small bits of the window were digging into his shoulder. Flecks of tiny razors speckled across his neck and face, and he wanted to growl. Removing glass from skin took forever! He moved the front half of his body back, with his elbows supporting himself, and groaned. "_Ow_."

"Riker!" Sally's voice called. She sounded terrified. The teen managed to settle his ringing head against something, waiting for the spots to leave his vision.

"I'm okay!" He shouted back.

He shook of the daze. He wasn't dead—it would take a lot more to do that, he huffed—and the car hadn't really exploded. They'd swerved into a ditch. The driver's-side doors were pressed into mud, and the car itself was flipped over. Where Riker had previously been sitting upright, he was now lying upside down with his back pressed against the carpeted roof of the Camaro, which was cracked in places like an eggshell, with rain somehow pouring in, pelting him in the face and chest, making his cuts sting. The wheels kept rotating as if they were still on the road, the axles snapped.

They'd been struck by lightning.

_Awesome_. Riker told himself halfheartedly. Another thing he could add to his list of spectacular things he'd lived through.

He didn't know it yet, but surviving being struck by lightning was going to be lame compared to some other things he would accomplish.

Still, they'd been blasted right of the road. Riker glanced over to see a motionless lump next to him, hanging from the roof—or, the seats, now, of the car. Still strapped in by a seat belt, arms swinging limply down. Riker blinked, then frowned. "Oi! _Grover_! Just 'cause you're weird and I think you're seriously annoying doesn't mean you can kick the bucket! Who's gonna stalk me now, dammit?!"

Grover let out a groan, that vaguely sounded like the word "food," and Riker knew he'd make it out alive.

So he ignored the pain and twisted himself around to face the front again. "Mom?!"

"I'm right here, sweetheart." Sally called back. Her voice faltered. "We have to..."

Riker moved himself up onto his elbows again, turning his head around to look back. Lightning flashed again, nowhere near them this time, and Riker was able to catch a glimpse of something lumbering toward them through the rain. It was a dark silhouette of a large man—like a football-player on steroids. It looked like he was holding a blanket over his head, and his top half was bulky and fuzzy. His upraised hands made it look like he had horns.

Riker blinked. Strange guy. "Who's—"

"Riker," his mother spoke, dead serious. "_Get out of the car_."

She threw herself at the driver's door, hands jerking the handle up and down, but it didn't budge. Riker took the hint and tried his. Stuck too. He looked ahead and saw the body-sized hole in the windshield. He himself was already peppered with wounds full of glass shards, so he didn't think he would mind too much, but his mother... and stalker... the glass around the windshield was wickedly sharp and protruding at odd angles—they wouldn't make it out without a deep gash or two.

"Climb out the passenger's side!" His mother shouted. "Riker, you have to get out of here! DO you see that big tree over there?"

"_What_? No! Mom, I'm _not_—"

Another flash of lightning, and Riker glanced up in time to see a huge pine tree that reached high into the sky, towering over the rest of the woods. It was at the crest of the nearest woods, and big enough to be the Christmas tree for Times Square.

"That's the property line," Sally continued, ignoring Riker outburst. "Get over it and don't stop running until you reach the door of the farmhouse, down in the valley. Yell for help, and don't you dare look back!"

Riker turned himself over and sat up. This was probably the first time he'd ever glared at her. "Mom, you're coming _with_ me."

Her face was pale, and her eyes were gray again, sad as she looked out to the ocean.

Riker blinked, realizing what she must mean. "Um, yeah. no. You're coming. Help me carry creepy stalker over there." Sally only smiled a bit sadly as Riker reached out a hand to unbuckle the satyr. Grover landed on the roof of the car with a dull thud. He groaned again, most likely calling for some enchiladas this time.

The man with the blanket was getting closer, making those strange grunting and snorting noises. As he came into a clearer view, Riker realized he couldn't be holding a blanket over his head—because two meaty arms with Hulk-sized hands were swinging at his sides in a lazy manner. Which meant that the bulky, furry mass that was too big to be a head... was his head. And those really _were_ horns.

"Riker, he doesn't want _us_." His mother told him. "He wants _you_. Besides, I can't cross the property line."

Riker spun around to give her a look. "_Mom_, you—"

"There isn't any time, honey. Please, just _go_!"

Riker stared at her for a second, silent. He was mad then, mad at himself, at Grover the stalking goat-boy, at the _thing_ coming towards them, even a little at his mother. He turned slowly to climb across Grover and kicked open the passenger door. He turned and grabbed the unconscious satyr and flung him out of the overturned vehicle, not even batting an eyelash when he heard the somewhat sickening thump that sounded when the guy landed on the ground outside. He twisted back around and blinked. "Come on mom. We're going."

"Riker, I told you—"

"How do you expect me to lug around that guy, then?" he jerked a thumb back in the direction he'd tossed Grover. "I know I'm strong and all, but I'm just a twelve-year-old, and Grover's _heavy_!"

He knew he was whining like a little kid, but it seemed like the only way to get his mom out of the car, so that was what he would do. He climbed out of the door above his head and landed on his feet, heels digging into gravel. He bounced up and down a few times, getting used to the feeling glass digging into his skin, and then made his way to where Grover was slumped over. He leaned down and took a hold of one of Grover's wrists, pulling the arm up and slinging it over his shoulder, wincing as the glass burrowed in a little deeper. He began walking toward the tallest tree, the tree that marked the property line of—of that camp. He probably wouldn't have made it very far if his mother hadn't finally come out to help him.

They each slung one of Grover's arms over their shoulders and began stumbling uphill through waist high, wet country grass toward the pine tree.

When Riker looked behind him, he finally got his first clear look at the monster that had chased them all the way across Long Island. He was an easy seven feet tall and his arms looked like they were photoshoped onto his body right out of a _Muscle Man_ magazine. Bulging biceps and triceps, and all the other 'ceps, all packed like baseballs under vein-webbed skin. The only clothes he had on was a pair of bright white Fruit of the Looms that were now splotched with mud. It looked hilarious and what Riker really anted to do was laugh, but he decided to save his energy to do it later when his life—and his mother's. And Grover's—wasn't in danger. Coarse brown-red hair started down at his naval and got thicker along the way to his shoulders. His neck was a tree trunk of muscle and fur that held up his massive head, which and a snout as thick as Riker's torso, flaring nostrils with a brass ring, beady black eyes that reminded him of Gabe, and wickedly sharp horns protruding from his scalp.

Riker recognized the monster all right. It was the very first myth Mr. Br—Chiron had taught his class. But he'd never thought it could be real—which was why he'd always laughed when they went over the story. He wasn't laughing now. Aside from silently in his head at the Fruit of the Looms getup.

He shook his head from side to side to get the rain out of his head and tried jogging faster. "That's—That's, um, Pasiphae's son, right? The Min—"

"Don't say his name," Sally warned him. "Names—they have power, hun."

Riker's mouth clicked shut.

The pine tree was getting closer, but still too far away—like a hundred meters uphill, at least. Riker glanced back again to see the Minotaur—cause that's what it _was_, he realized—even closer than before.

They were only about fifty feet away, still, but the monster stopped at the overturned Camaro—the wheels were still turning on the broken axles—and began peering into the windows. Or not, really. He sniffed around the crash-site, grunting and huffing, head-butting the wrecked metal vehicle a few times for god measure.

Grover groaned again, for food—_What is __**with**__ him and food?_ Riker asked himself—and the teen reached out a hand to slap over the satyrs mouth. "Mom, what's he doing? Is he blind or something?"

"His sight _is_ terrible," Sally admitted," along with his hearing. He goes by smell. But he'll catch our scent soon enough. We have to hurry."

It was like they were all in one big play, and that had been Bull-man's cue. He let out a bellow of rage and curled his bulky hands around the edge of the totaled Camaro. He lifted it up over his head and tossed it across the country road. It landed in a shower of sparks and groaning metal, skidding for around half a mile before coming to a screeching stop. Then, the gas tank exploded.

_Not a scratch_, Riker suddenly remembered Gabe saying.

Whoops.

"When he sees us," Sally started talking quickly, "he'll charge. Let him get close, then jump sideway, okay?"

Riker blinked, before nodding, seeing the reasoning. "His mass is to much for him to change directions that quickly. He'll keep going forward and until he slows down enough for him to turn back around, then he'll charge again. It's like in bull-fighting."

Sally paused long enough to give him a proud smile. It was like 'See? I knew you were smarter than you say in school.' Riker rolled his eyes, and they kept jogging toward the pine tree ahead. "How do you know all this, anyway?" He asked.

Sally's smile disappeared, and her shoulder's tensed. "I've been worried about an attack like this for a long time, hun. I should have expected this—I was selfish, keeping you close to me like that."

Riker gave the woman a look, eyebrows raised. "Mom, it isn't _selfish_ of you to keep your own kid near you."

Sally shook her head. "But—"

With another throaty roar of anger, the Minotaur started tromping up hill, hands tearing at the damp country grass that had previously and still was hindering Riker and his mother.

He had their scent.

The pine tree was only a few yards ahead, but the hill was getting slicker and goat-boy wasn't getting any lighter—and the Minotaur was closing in. A few more second, and he would be on them. Riker ignored the pounding of his heart and plowed on.

Sally shouldered Grover and took a step away. "Riker, go on! Separate! Remember what I said!"

"Hell to the no!" But Riker had the feeling she was right, that it was their only chance. He paused for a second, thinking, and then spun around to face the Minotaur.

"Riker, no!" Sally shouted at him, eyes wide and terrified.

Riker sprinted away from her without a word and, sure enough, saw the bull-guy's black soulless eyes follow him. He halted his movement and waited. "Go on, woman! I'm _not_ taking no for an answer!"

Riker's stomach twisted and he fell the unfamiliar desire to run away. But he knew that was stupid. He wasn't afraid of this ugly piece of meat—plus, he'd never be able to outrun the thing.

So he held his ground. The Minotaur charged. Riker waited, waited—then jumped to the side, sliding a few feet than he meant to on the wet grass—but that was fine with him, and the monster just raced right past him, thundering over the spot he'd been only moments before. Riker sucked in a breath. He glanced down to pinch one of the larger pieced on glass—one that was going a little too deep into his side—and yanked it out. He looked back up and tossed it to the side.

They'd gotten to the crest of the hill, and Riker saw the white farmhouse his mother had mentioned. But it was still an entire half-mile away. They would never make it.

_No_. Riker told himself. No, they _would_.

The Minotaur turned again with a loud roar—but it wasn't Riker he was looking at this time. No, it was Sally, who was just setting Grover down in the grass.

Riker's heart wanted to stop, but he commanded it to keep on going. He forced his legs to move toward his mother, running. No way is that stripper bull-man laying one, meaty finger on his mom.

But Sally was backing away now, slowly. Trying to lead the beast away from Grover. Riker felt selfish, then, as he wanted to yell for her to stop—that he considered her far more important than Grover could ever be, to him.

That made him feel lower than dirt, though, so he kept his mouth shut and ignored the guilty feeling, pushing himself to run faster.

"Riker, run!" Sally called. "I can't go any farther!"

Riker was running, but not in the direction that Sally probably wanted him to. He was only ten meters away from her when the Minotaur reached her—Sally tried to sidestep, as Riker had done, but it seemed the monster had learned it's lesson, as it shot out one hulking hand to grab her by the throat. He lifted her up into the air as she struggled, feet kicking at the air and hands slashing away his his arm.

"Mom!" Riker reached into his pocket and pulled out Chiron's pen, un-capping it and throwing the top aside—it wasn't important right now. The bronze sword materialized in his hand and he'd just reached the beast when it closed it's fingers around Sally's neck. His mother slowly began to glow in a golden light, her form fading a little as it began to resemble a holographic projection, he felt his eyes sting a little and he tried running even faster—but it was like wading through molasses. Then, with a blinding flash, she was simply _vanished_.

Yeah... no. Riker did _not_ like that _at all_.

He was pissed. No, he was more than pissed—he was _livid_. This _thing_ just came along and made his _mom_ disappear. It would have to face the very _**painful**_ _consequences_.

He stopped running and gripped the pen-turned-sword in his hand, knuckles turning white from the force of the hold. He gulped in a few much-needed breaths of hair and waved the weapon in the air just as the Minotaur turned toward Grover. For some reason, Riker felt that he would not allow the beast to get within five yards of his stalker. He was coming out of this having saved _someone_, dammit! The gleam of the sword's metal edges when lightning flashed caught the monster's eyes, and Riker patiently waited form it to come charging at him again. "Yo! Ass wipe! Come at me!"

The Minotaur turned toward him, eye gleaming with hatred—and Riker vaguely wondered, slightly offended, what he'd ever done to the thing to garner it's loathing—and it lowered it head to charge again, letting out a low, rumbling roar. He shook his meaty fists and took of at him. Riker's leg muscles tensed.

He had an idea.

It was a stupid idea, if he hadn't been into acrobats, but he was pretty confident that he could pull it off.

The beast flew up the hill toward him, hands outstretched to grab him whichever way he sidestepped this time—but Riker wasn't going to dodge again. At least, not in those directions.

He pressed his back to the pine tree, the bark rubbing roughly against his bare back and the glass shards digging even deeper into his skin—it was going to be hell, getting those out after all this was done—and as the Minotaur was upon him, he jumped straight upwards.

He kicked off of the creature's head and turned in midair to land in a crouch against the trunk of the tree, before using it as a springboard to leap up higher, executing a neat back flip and landing in another crouch on the Minotaurs head, his feet digging into crook between the monstrous neck and the beasts hairy shoulders.

Plan successful. Now, what he really wanted to execute was the monster beneath him—it was at his mercy. He lifted the sword in a reverse grip above his head and, in a flash of lightning, brought it down. The blade burrowed down to the hilt into the creature's neck, and Riker released his hold on the handle, hands jerking up to wrap tightly around one of the horns as the Minotaur began to flail around wildly, howling in pain and anger.

A second later, the monster slammed into the trunk of the pine tree with a force that nearly shattered Riker's clenched teeth—that would be a tragedy, his charming smiles were _amazing_—and the teen's grip tightened until all the blood in his knuckles had mysteriously vanished.

The bull-man shook himself and bucked like a rodeo bull, and Riker moved to wrap his legs around the hilt of the sword still protruding from it's neck—he wondered how the hell the thing was still around after that, but he wasn't letting go until the Minotaur was _gone_—and held onto the horn for dear life. The thunder and lightning were still going strong, and the rain was probably aiming at Riker's eyes just to be mean to him. He imagined the storm clouds were laughing at him. Dammit, they were deliberately trying to make his life difficult!

Meanwhile, Grover lay in the grass, groaning. Riker wanted to scream at him and tell him to shut up—he'd gotten the worst of the car crash when he'd flown through the fucking windshield, and here he was riding a bull from Greek mythology, suck it up!—but he was aware that if he opened his mouth, at this rate, he'd most likely bite his own tongue off.

The Minotaur heard goat-boy's moaning, it appeared, and the thing turned toward him. It's eyes flashed crazily, and it's foot pounded the ground as it readied up for another charge, Riker still perched on it's back. His mind flashed back to how the thing had taken his mother away from him, and in that instant, Riker only saw red.

He readjusted his hands on the horn and pulled back with all his might. He figured it was just like yanking out a tooth or something. Apparently so, since the Minotaur seemed to feel it. Like it was getting looser. It stopped preparing for a charge, it's body tensing. The thing gave a surprised grunt, before—_snap_!

And then, it seemed that the blade buried in it's neck finally caught up with them. When the monster turned around to fling him off, there was a sick ripping and tearing sound, like organs being pulled from an open chest—he'd seen a documentary of a heart transplant or something on Discovery Channel or something when his mom had told him to watch something more educational than dirt-bike races. _Not_ doing that again—and the Minotaur let out a strangled-sounding roar as it began to dissolve. At first, the stuff was the color of graying, dead skin, but it took on the tint of glimmering gold just as the corpse caved in and fell to the ground. Riker fell down when his perch disintegrated beneath him. When he sat up, he was covered in decayed monster dust and clutching a horn longer then his arm and thicker than hick neck at the base. His head spun from where it smacked against a rock in his tumble to the ground.

The remains of the Minotaur crumbled like sand—just like how his math teacher, the Kindly One, had gone—and the areas that weren't clinging to his pants or hair were blown away in the howling wind.

The beast was gone. And so was the rain. Maybe the clouds were done using him for entertainment.

The wind was still screaming and there was a dull thundering, but it was all in the instance. Riker was sitting on the ground, trembling, covered in monster sparkles, and clutching the horn of the thing he'd just defeated. He shook from the raging emotions inside of him as his mind played the scene of his mother vanishing in a golden light over and over and over again. He was cold, exhausted, hungry—dammit, Grover—the sudden silence was driving him _insane_ and he felt vaguely like Edward Cullen, covered in the gold leftovers of the Minotaur as he was.

Riker shook out his stiff limbs and forced through the paralysis of shock. He stood himself up and stumbled over to an still unconscious Grover, bending over long enough to toss one of the satyr's arms over his aching shoulders before straightening up. He had to give it a few attempt, since his hands kept missing and his vision was blurry from the rain that had attacked them—it was rain. He wasn't _crying_, obviously. He hauled his stalker up and began to stagger down the other side of the hill he'd went through so much to climb, making his way toward the large white farmhouse.

He distantly remembered seeing the large shadows of more buildings that hadn't been there before as he tumbled through the valley, but he stubbornly kept his eyes on the ground in front of him until his feet hit a wooden porch. He slowly looked up to see the white farmhouse towering over him. He stared at the door for a few long moments, before letting out a deep sigh and tossing Grover's still—but still breathing—form onto the wooden planks. He let his head fall back down to stare at the steel toes of his combat boots before lifting one foot and climbing up the short set of stairs. When he reached the door, he considered it for a moment, before knocking a clenched fist on it three times. That done, he immediately spun around and sat down lotus style on the dusty porch floor, taking in slow, steady breaths, trying to calm his heart down.

He vaguely heard the sound of the door of the farmhouse opening behind him, but he didn't look up from his study of the grains of wood in the planks of the porch. He rested his hands on his knees and clenched them into fists.

A hand reached out and rested on his shoulder as a familiar voice spoke. "Is it done, Mr. Jackson?"

Riker didn't say a word. He reached over and picked up the horn he'd carried all the way there, along with Grover, and tossed it over his shoulder without looking back. "Son of Pasiphae, defeated." He replied nonchalantly.

Apparently, there was someone else there, because he heard a light gasp from the door. "The Minotaur?" A young feminine voice asked questioningly.

Riker would have turned himself around to glare at her and snap 'No, it was Barny,' but he just didn't feel like it. He moved his hands behind him and uncrossed his legs so he could fall over to his side and wrap his arms around his head.

Still, after all that had happened, he felt a little pissed that the girl would doubt his claim, whoever she was. Seriously, the fucking horn was right _there_, she could have just used her eyes.

"Mmm, yeah." Riker sighed despairingly, before the blackness finally enveloped his vision.

Before he went under, though, he heard the girl walk over to stand beside the other person—Chiron, he knew. Because that voice had been Mr. Brunner's, Riker had heard it enough during Latin class to know. "He's the one. He must be.

"Silence, Annabeth," Chiron replied. "He is still conscious. Bring him inside."

He felt himself being lifted up, and he let his mind wander. It shouldn't matter if he was awake or not. After all, he wanted _answers_.

Because they were the one thing that his mother had never really given him.

**Don't ask me why this story is suddenly being updated more than my other ones, because I don't know. It just too much fun. Riker is so entertaining to write, and I can't stop. I seriously love him. He's awesome. Such an attitude, that guy.**

**Also, it's a way form me to release a few pent up frustrations. You see, my parents never let me curse like this, But Riker, he doesn't care what my parents say XD So if he tends to curse a lot in this thing, please bear with me.**

**Thank you for reading, please review! *bows***

**~Scylar X**


	5. Not Everyone Can Always Be A Winner

_Usually, when girls looked at me, they saw a bad-boy type guy. I had never had any girl look at me and think 'idiot.'_

_Sometimes, when they came up to actually meet me, they'd say stuff like, "I saw what you did earlier to that jerk," or "So, I've been meaning to introduce myself," or "I don't think we've met before," or even "Hiya hot stuff, what's happening?"_

_I've never, in all my days, have had a girl tell me that I drool in my sleep._

_Then again, I don't think I took any true offense to the comment, as it implied that she had watched me sleep before._

_Now **that** was something to think about._

**Chapter Five**

Riker had always had the strangest dreams ever, but these ones really just took the cake. Usually in his dreams, he was always on the hunt for something, on a mission, and the only thing he could focus on was completing it through any means, including taping a half cooked chicken leg to a broken clock. Yeah, don't ask. Even he didn't understand that one. He'd stood in the kitchen wearing his leather jacket, except it was a dark purple instead of black, and had a yellow insignia of a centaur wearing hair-curlers. He was watching his mother cook a Thanksgiving meal while he was reading aloud from the book Fifty Shades of Gray(that had been what clued him in on the fact that it was a dream, as he would never actually admit to his mother that he'd read the book she'd found under his bed. He'd very quickly pointed to Gabe on that one). Then, when his mother was halfway done with cooking the meal, she took everything out and set it on the table and poured ice into the gravy. After that, Riker went over to the living room to turn on the TV and sat down on the floor lotus style before it, seemingly very interested in the five o'clock news. Gabe sat in the recliner behind him, giving a loud, nicely formulated yet critical review of the story of Romeo and Juliet, while he listened to the audio of Shakespeare's collected works through a pair of headphones. Sally walked over, tapped Riker on the head, and then began doing the Lindy Hop as she made her way to the door, which was ringing like a telephone. She opened it and welcomed in a variety of barnyard animals. Riker then felt that he had to do something very important, and that it mattered very much to him. He'd watched his dream self get up and walk over to the table of food with a determined face, rip the half-cooked turkey in half, and duct tape it to the very large grandfather clock that read midnight, even though he could clearly see the sun overhead through the window. He turned around, then, and began to play gladiator with half of their barnyard animal guests, while the rest of them went over to the table and made a mess out of the meal.

Riker was seriously confused about that one when he'd woken up for the first time since the night he'd fought the Minotaur, but the only thing he had been able to focus on was the fact that they didn't _have_ a broken grandfather clock in their apartment.

Afterwards, he'd woken up several more times, but always fell asleep again before anything registered in his mind. Then, he'd remembered lying in a soft bed with smooth sheets covering him, being spoon fed some sort of pudding that tasted like buttered popcorn. He'd be the first one to admit that that taste and texture paired together was fucking weird. There was a girl with curly blond hair hovering over him, holding a bowl of the stuff. When she noticed that his eyes were open, she leaned forward even more, and Riker raised an eyebrow.

"What will happen at the summer solstice?" She asked him.

Raiser blinker. "That? Well, most sweltering day of the years, so it's gonna be hot. I'd suggest wearing a swimsuit and going for a swim on the beach. Work on that tan of yours—which is very nice, by the way—"

"_No_, that's not— " She narrowed her eyes at him, then glanced around as if she was worried there was someone listening in. "What's going _on_? What was stolen? We've only got a few weeks!"

"I've stolen a lot of things," Riker admitted, voice dramatic, "many of which were young girls' hearts, but—"

There was a sound near the door, and the girl glared at him, quickly forcing his mouth full of the popcorn pudding. "_Nevermind_."

The next time he woke up, she was gone.

Instead, a husky blond dude stood in the corner. He looked, for all the world, like a surfer, and would have been pretty good-looking with those blue eyes he had. But it was the blue eyes, also, that put Riker off. As in, multiple eyes, not just two? All over his body, his cheeks, his forehead, he even saw some scattered on his bare forearms. The guy didn't say anything, just stood by his bed and kept watch over him.

Then, when Riker finally came around, there wasn't anything really strange about his surroundings. He was in a room with white walls. A fan lazily spun on the ceiling and the window was open to let in bright sunshine and a soft breeze. He heard the distant laughter, like at a sport game but not as intense. He heard kids shouting at each other, but the voices were too far off to understand the words. The sound of birds chirping was only disrupted by the tell-tale noise of someone hitting a ball back and forth. The was a blanket over his legs and a pillow under his head. All that was great, but it felt like he'd swallowed a cigarette lighter. That had been lighted. His tongue was dry and every one of his teeth ached, like after that one dentist appointment that Riker would rather not be remembering right now.

There was a tall glass of what looked like liquid topaz sitting next to him, ice cubes gentle sloshing around. A green straw was stuck through the barricade of frozen water, and a small maraschino cherry was plopped right underneath them.

Riker reached over for it. His grip was so loose the cool glass almost slipped through his fingers.

"Careful." A familiar voice said.

Riker blinked, then brought the glass down to balance on his knee. He glanced up to see someone he hadn't noticed was in the room. "Goat-boy?"

Grover's eyebrow twitched. "My name's Grover, Percy."

Riker blinked again, before giving the teen a grin. "Mhm. And _my_ name is Riker. You call me that, I'll call you Grover, dear stalker."

Still, Riker looked closer. Grover was leaning against the wall, looking like he hadn't slept in a week. There were dark bags under his eyes and his clothes were wrinkled in places The orange shirt that read "Camp half-Blood," with a pegasus insignia on the front was half-tucked into faded blue jeans, and his red converse sneakers were barely even tied. He had a long, twisted object wrapped in white cloth tucked under one arm. "Not that I care, dude, but are you okay? You look like shit."

Grover let out that bleating laugh, and Riker suddenly remembered what had happened that night.

But still, before him stood Grover. Not goat-boy-Grover, just plain old creepy-stalker-Grover.

So maybe what had happened during that midnight storm was only one of his weird, messed up dreams. His mother was fine. They were still on vacation, and they'd just stopped by this big white farmhouse because Grover lived here during the summer. Riker remembered that card the guy had given him after the last day of school. It had read Long Island. So maybe...

"You saved my life," Grover said, instead. "I... well—the least I could do... I went back down to the car to get your suitcase and stuff, and I also went out to the front and looked around until I found... it. I thought you might want..." He trailed off and paused, before the teen the wrapped tree branch-like object. Riker stared at it for a moment, before slowly peeling back the cloth.

It was a black and white bull's horn, but larger than life and twisted in a menacing way. The bottom was jagged, like it had been snapped right off the skull...

It hadn't been a nightmare.

Riker let out a forced breath and fall back in the bed, one hand gripping the severed horn and the other holding up his drink so it wouldn't spill. He wasn't even sure what it was, but it looked good.

"The Minotaur," though. That was what was going through his head.

"Um, Riker, it isn't a good idea to—"

"That's what they called him in the _myths_," Riker told him, remembering what his mother had said about saying the names. They held power, somehow. Would saying it's name bring it to you? He shook his head. "Pasiphae's kid. Half man, half bull. I don't even want to know _what_ creep that girl got down with to have a son like _him_."

Grover shifted on his feet—or, hooves, now—uneasily. "You've been unconscious for an entire day—it's really early in the morning now. We'd thought you would have been out longer, but it looks like you have high endurance."

"Unlike _you_," Riker spoke up flippantly as he sat up again. "Who was out cold after hitting your head on the headrest of the passengers seat."

Grover stared down at his sneakers, "I-I'm sor—"

"I mean, I went flying through the _windshield_, dude! And then I got right up and ran for an entire half-a-mile before riding a bull like a rodeo _cowboy_!" Riker sucked in a breath, before looking down into his lap. He brought to straw to his lips and took a sip of the topaz-colored drink.

There was a beat of silence, before Grover spoke up again, in a low voice. "I'm really sorry, Riker. Really. It's all my fault—"

"Nah," Riker told him, voice resigned. "No, it was _mine_."

Grover looked up. "H-How much do you remember?"

Riker glanced over at the other teen. Grover was fidgeting with the cloth wrappings that had held the Minotaur's horn. "My mom. Grover, she's really...?"

Grover sucked in a deep breath, before hunching his shoulders and looking down at his feet again. That was all Riker needed. He looked back toward the window and suddenly felt the urge to curse the sunny day. His mom was gone, it should be black and cold.

Just like the rain clouds that night. The weather really was out for his head.

"I'm-I'm sorry." Grover sniffed, looking up with teary eyes. "I'm such a failure—I'm the worst satyr ever—"

He kicked the wall so hard his foot came off—well, the sneaker did, Grover looked down and mumbled a curse in Greek before reaching down to toss it across the room. He pulled off the other shoe and did that same with that. Riker was silent throughout this.

He was thinking. His mother was gone. Squeezed into nothingness and vanishing in a yellow light. He felt miserable, even more than that time he'd gotten nicked by a blade in a gang fight he'd accidentally been caught up in and had to hide the wound form his mother for a week until it healed somewhat. He was alone, his mother was gone.

He'd have to go home, though. Sometimes. He'd have to live with... that bastard? If so, Riker was almost certain that Gabe would be found mysteriously dead within the first week, a month if Riker was a patient as his mother taught him. With luck, they'd never even have to search for the body, as the son would only report him missing.

Yes, a sound plan indeed.

Still, maybe it would never happen. He'd live in the alleys first, maybe group up with his nighttime buddied for good. He had enough street smarts to survive, and plenty of stashed-away arsenal to keep them all alive fr a good amount of time.

"It still wasn't your fault." Riker heard himself saying. The hell, was he being _nice_? Nu uh. It wasn't possible. He had some hidden motive he didn't know of, yet. He'd find out soon, though...

And his _Dementophobia_ was acting up again, thanks to his analysis of his own words. _Shut up, brain_.

He took another sip of the drink even as Grover went on to gripe and moan about how it was his fault, it had been his job to protect Riker, he was such a failure—which Riker found himself ignoring in favor of the taste of the topaz-tinted liquid. He'd expected it to be icy cold and taste like some sort of fruit punch mixed with badly-hidden medicine, but it wasn't. It was warm in the most pleasant of ways, and tasted like the chocolate chip cookies his mother would always make him.

He suddenly felt like his mother had just given him a hug. And had told him that everything would be okay—and then it was gone again. But he didn't let that deter him. He felt energized for the first time in days.

Without even noticing, Riker drained th glass dry. He stared down at the ice cubes as he popped the cherry into his mouth and wondered about that. He'd been sure it was a warm drink, but the ice cubes looked like they hadn't even melted, lying at the bottom of his glass. Riker tossed the straw aside and began crunching the ice like he always did when he had pop at a fast-food place. He knew it wasn't good for his teeth, but it was a better addiction than cigarettes, which one of his street-pals had once offered.

"Was it good?" Grover asked, looking at the slowly vanishing cubes of ice. He could hear the crunching sound that came from Riker's mouth from all the way by the window.

Riker just nodded.

"What did it taste like?" Grover asked, with a glint in his eyes. Like he knew something Riker didn't and wasn't even thinking of telling him. Riker just nodded again, before swallowing the now crushed ice. "Cookies. Homemade. Mom-style."

Grover sighed. "And how are you feeling now?"

Riker cracked his stiff knuckles. "Like I could chuck you even farther than I did when I tossed your out of the Camaro."

The satyr looked up, startled. "You did what now?" He asked.

Riker just laughed brightly at him, fingers running over the side of the horn in his lap. But his eyes were a dull gray, like his mother's after she'd just finished crying.

"Come on," Grover said instead, turning around and making his way to the door. "Chiron and Mr. D are waiting."

The satyr dragged Riker's suit case into the room and Riker chose to go for something more simple than his regular outfit. He forewent a top and tugged on his mesh-shirt, slipping into black cargo-pants and his combat boots. He took out some shades, placed them over his eyes, then pulled on his leather jacket and followed Grover out of the room and down a set of stairs.

The porch actually wrapped all the way around the house, and as Riker let Grover lead him round to the back, he took a look around.

They must have been at the north shore of Long Island, because on this side of the house, the valley marched all the way up to the water, which glittered about a mile into the distance. The landscape was dotted with buildings that were modeled after ancient Greek architecture; an open-air pavilion, and amphitheater, a circular arena. They all looked bran-new, if only a little-lived in, with their white columns gleaming in the morning sun. down a ways away from the house, a group of high school-age teens were playing a game of volleyball. Canoes glided smoothly across the surface of a sparkling lake and there were kids in orange t-shirts everywhere, doing a variety of activities situated around a cluster of twelve cabins in the middle of the valley. There was an archery course and Riker vaguely spotted a group of people riding winged horses down a wooded path.

They'd reached the other side of the house now, where two men sat at a card table playing against each other. There was the blond-haired girl from before—the one who'd fed him that popcorn pudding—Annabeth, leaning against the railing and watching the game.

The man facing Riker was somewhat short and a bit pudgy. He had curly black hair, big watery eyes and a small red nose. He reminded the teen of a cherubs that had grown middle-aged in a trailer park, living off hamburgers and soda pop. He was wearing a tiger-print Hawaiian shirt and dark blue shorts. He would fit snuggly into one of Gabe's poker parties—except, Riker felt that the guy could out-gamble even his bastard step-father(who wasn't even a good player anyway).

"That's Mr. D," Grover murmured to him. "He's the camp director, so be polite, okay? The girl next to him is—"

"Annabeth," Riker yawned. "Yeah I know. I've met her before, vaguely."

Grover looked back at him with a strange look on his face, but shrugged and kept walking forward. "And I guess you already know Chiron, too." He pointed at the man who had his back to them, the one sitting in the wheel-chair. Riker already knew who it was the moment he laid eyes on him. His Latin teacher.

"Yo, teach!" Riker called out then, stepping ahead of Grover who had decided to be a wimp and falter when the director's eyes zeroed in on them. The man in the wheelchair turned around and graced them with a smile. His eyes held that gleam he got when he pulled a trick on the class and had made all the multiple choice answers C.

"Hello, Riker!" Chiron greeted him. "Ah, now we have enough for a game of pinochle."

He offered Riker a chair in front of Mr. D, who just looked at the teen with blood-shot eyes and heaved a great sigh. "Oh, I suppose I must say it. Welcome to Camp Half-Blood. There, now don't expect me to be glad to see you."

Riker was used to porky guys who had attitude, so he only spun his chair around until it faced him and sat in it backwards with the back against his stomach, arms resting on the edge. A typical cool-guy pose. He flashed the man a grin. "Oh, there's tons of people who aren't glad to see Riker Jackson. Although, I don't recall doing anything to garner that reaction form _you_."

Still, Riker knew this guy's type. If the director was a stranger to alcohol, then Riker was goody-two-shoes nerd who loved the color pink and whose favorite food was broccoli.

Chiron looked over at Annabeth and raised an eyebrow. "Well, my girl?"

The girl stepped forward and stared neutrally at Riker, who flashed her a grin. "'Allo, Annie-girl. _So_ nice to see you again."

Chiron and the girl graced him with a surprised look, but then Annabeth glared at him. "How do you know my name? I've never even introduced myself."

Riker leaned back and spread his arms wide. "What can I say? I'm observant. I caught your name before I passed out on the porch the night before last, and I already know Chiron form when I eavesdropped on him and goat-boy over there back in school, before exams."

Chiron's eyes flew open, and he shot a look toward Grover, who twisted his cap in his hands. "I'm sorry, sir! I didn't know until he told me on the Greyhound home."

Annabeth stared coldly at Riker, who just crossed his arms over his chest and leaned forward again. "Doesn't matter now, anyway. What I wanna know is why Annie-girl over there was spoon-feeding me popcorn pudding."

Suddenly Annabeth's glare was gone and she glowered over across the lake with a red tint in her cheeks. She looked like your typical Californian girl with long, curly blond hair and a nice tan, but her eyes just ruined the image. They were a contrasting gray, with some silver flecks near the pupils. She wore the same orange shirt that Grover and the rest of the campers wore, and faded jean shorts with dark blue flip-flops—Riker hated flip-flops. They were so damn annoying.

Then she glanced back and her gaze settled on the Minotaur horn that Riker hadn't really noticed he'd brought along, which was set on the empty chair next to him. He tilted his head and waited for her to spit out whatever answer she'd came up with.

"You drool in your sleep," she said, and Riker just stared at her.

Then, he broke out laughing, hard. He wrapped his arms around his stomach and cracked up, eyes light blue and sparkling like his mom's had whenever she had watched a good comedy with him. Annabeth narrowed her eyes and looked away again, blushing once more, like she realized how lame the comeback had been.

"Oh!" Riker cackled. "I _like_ you! Ha ha _ha..._" He leaned back and braced his arms behind his head, blinking over at Chiron. "So, what's happening old man?"

"Annabeth nursed you back to health, Mr. Jackson," Chiron told him sternly. "You should at least show her some thanks, yes?"

Riker glanced over at a still-scowling Annabeth, and blinked. "Yeah, thanks."

She just glared at him.

Chiron let out a sigh. "My dear girl, why don't you go check on Riker's bunk? We'll be putting him in Cabin Eleven for now."

She let out a huff, before turning away from the group. "Sure, Chiron."

And then she was sprinting off down the lawn, blond curls flying behind her. Riker felt like he was in some cheesy teen-girl movie.

He glanced back over at Chiron. "So I had the famous Chiron as my Latin teacher, huh?"

Chiron smiled back over at him, eyes crinkling. "Ah, yes. It was a house-visit. I'm afraid. I don't do many of those nowadays. Mr. Brunner was, of course, a pseudonym."

"Gotcha," Riker flashed him a quick grin, before looking over at the director. "And Mr. D—that's definitely stands for something; but," he raised his hands in a surrendering motion. "Names, power—all that. I get it. You're probably some big shot 'myth' or something."

Then he eyed Mr. D, who was blinking at him with some veiled surprise. "Although, I wouldn't be surprised if you turned out to be just a regular trailer-park guy. Then, it would be my mistake."

"That is true," the director said, most likely decided to ignore that last part for now, even though Riker could tell he was irritated. "Names are powerful things, and you shouldn't go around using them for no reason."

"I must say that I am quite glad to see you alive, Riker," Chiron spoke up, shuffling the deck of cards.

"Well, gee. Thanks."

"It has been a long time since I've made a house call to a potential camper," he explained, eyes twinkling, "I'd hate to think I had waisted my time."

"Yeah," Riker mumbled, thinking. He'd meant to ask about that. "House, call—you mentioned that before. What didja mean?"

"My year at Yancy Academy." the man said, as if it should be obvious, even though Riker had never _lived_ at school—he shuddered at the memories of boarding houses. Never again. "To instruct you. We have satyrs at most schools, of course, keeping watch. But Grover alerted me as soon as he met you. He claimed you were something special, so I decided to come upstate and check on you myself. I convinced the other Latin teacher to.. ah, take a leave of absence."

Riker shot up in his seat, eyebrows high and a grin threatening to split his face. "Wait, you _offed_ him?" Maybe this guy was cooler than he thought!

Chiron gave him a stern stare. "Of course not, boy. He was an innocent mortal, why would I do that?"

Riker shrugged, excitement diminished, and leaned back once more. "So you came to Yancy just to teach little old me?"

Chiron sighed, then nodded. "I wasn't sure about you at first, but we contacted your mother. I made sure she knew we were watching you to see if you were ready to come to camp or not. You still had so much to learn, but it seems you made it here alive, and that's always the first test."

"It's summer," Riker groaned. "Those are supposed to be boycotted until orientation or entrance exams!" But he felt vaguely angry. His mother had been taken from him in a stupid _test_, real life emergency or no.

"Grover," Mr. D snapped. "Are you playing or not?"

"Yes sir!" Grover let out a yelp form where he'd been standing silently behind Riker the entire time. He quickly slipped into the empty seat and moved the Minotaur horn to the porch floor. Riker wanted to poke fun at him about how he was afraid of a pudgy short man in an animal-print shirt, but Mr. D was addressing him now.

"You _do_ know how to play pinochle, right?"

"Of course I do," Riker snorted. "Who do you take me for, a moron?" He'd had a buddy back at the gymnasts club he was in one summer who had a strange obsession with the game. He'd taught Riker up to the point were the teen was undefeated—but that had been back when he was nine, and his skills were a little rusty.

"Good, good," the director eyed him within a new light. "It is, along with gladiator fighting and Pac-Man, one of the greatest games ever invented by humans. I would expect a civilized young man to know the rules."

"Well," Riker started thoughtfully, "I ain't no _civilized_ young man, but I guess I could give you a good game." He leveled a challenging stare at Mr. D, who returned it in full force. Riker had forgotten how competitive he got when pinochle was involved.

"We shall see." Was all the guy said in reply.

Challenge insinuated, Riker then turned to Chiron. "Why would you come to Yancy just for me?"

"I asked the same question," Mr. D snorted, dealing out the cards. Grover flinched every time one landed in his pile.

"Am I somehow different than these other campers?" Riker gestured out towards the valley, indicating the busy teens and children. It would be just his luck to, to end up being the weird one in a camp like _this_.

"Did your mother tell you anything?" Chiron asked sympathetically, and Riker frowned. There goes the pity again.

"Yeah," he said gruffly. "Told me she didn't want to send me here. That once I was here, I couldn't leave. That she wanted to keep me with her. Right before she was squeezed into golden light and nothingness by that jackass freak of a monster."

"Hm," Mr. D hummed. "That's how they usually get killed. Young man, are you bidding or not?"

"Yeah, yeah." Riker rolled his eyed. "Don't get your knickers in a bunch, I'm getting there."

"I'm afraid there's too much to tel." Chiron sighed. "And in this situation, I don't believe our usual orientation film would suffice."

"Or you can just let me guess," Riker slapped a card down on the table and drew from the open deck. Mr. D sent him a scathing look and threw his hand down. Riker collected them with a snicker as the man drew another hand. "Here's what I've gathered. Greek myths; real—or most of them at least. I fought the son of Pasiphae the night before last, your pen can turn into a sword, those cabins down there, for the campers," he pointed across the lawn, "most likely symbolize the twelve in the Olympian council and, judging by how those guys down there haven't missed a single hoop on the basketball court since I came down here, the campers are blessed by whatever god or goddesses cabin they are in, or something similar." He looked up from his hand and slid on bad card forward, hoping one of them would take the bait. "Well?"

Chiron and Grover just stared at him, and Mr. D slowly slid out a hand to snatch up the card from Riker. He glanced down at it, and cursed. Riker grinned.

"That..." Chiron cleared his throat. "Was correct, Mr. Jackson. Mostly. The campers are not blessed by the god or goddess their cabin represents—well, not most of them. They are actually the children of those Olympians."

Riker ran through his deductions again, then nodded. "Right. So I guess—since I'm one of these campers now—that they're demigods or the such. One mortal parent and one godly."

"Smart boy." Mr. D eyed him suspiciously as he tallied up the points for a royal marriage. "Perhaps Athena, then."

"The looks don't match," Chiron told him and he made a move to counter Mr. D's. Riker, though, had them both right where we wanted them."

"I'm surprised by you, Riker." The ex-Latin teacher continued, as Riker made his own move. A feint, if you would. "You did not show such intelligence when you were in my class."

"I procrastinate in school." Riker yawned and waited for the director to make a move. His eyes were flitting between two cards, indecisive. "Part of it is being too lazy, the other part is that I don't wanna seem like a nerd. My image is a big part of my life, I don't wanna go around ruining it."

"Ah," Chiron nodded. "I see. Well, I do hope you will not feel the need to hide your knowledge here at camp, my boy. We are all family here."

"Yeah," Riker huffed, sarcastically. "Big, happy. I can literally feel the love."

"Mr D," Grover began nervously, fidgeting. "um, if you're not going to eat it, can I have your Diet Coke can?"

"Hm? Oh, alright."

The satyr took a great bite out of the aluminum can and chewed it mournfully. Riker made a face. He'd eaten plenty of things before, including rocks, wall plater and Styrofoam, most of which were on dares. He'd never tried metal—aside form a penny someone had once forced down his throat—but he didn't think they would be easy to chew. Grover must have had more goat in him that Riker realized.

The way Grover was minding his cards, though, dutifully chewing on his can and keeping his mouth shut. It made Riker think. Why was the goat-boy being so respectful to the director. He quickly ran though all the myths that he knew well enough. What god or goddess did the satyrs or nymphs refer to, other than Zeus? And, taking into account the tiger-print shirt, and the fact that he'd filled a conjured goblet with what had looked like grape juice before vanishing it miserably and bringing up a Diet Coke instead...

"I get it now." Riker spoke up, handing in another card that made Chiron wince and set down his own hand in defeat. "You're the God of Wine. Mr. D. D for..." He grinned at Chiron's raised eyebrows, and was inwardly surprised at the quick smirk the director sent toward him.

"That is also correct. My, if you aren't a spawn of Athena, I would be honestly startled. But alas, your image ruins that idea." He slapped a card on the table and shot him a superior look. Riker glanced down and smirked, drawing a card form the deck instead and laying down a certain assortment of three. The man scowled.

"I could look like my dad." Riker suggested—even though he knew that was false. He looked like his mom, with a face structure of his dad.

"Ah, but you're mother is Sally Jackson," Chiron reminded him, and Riker twisted his torso around, cracking his spine. He shot the ancient centaur a dark look. "Let's speak about, hm, some other topic. Get me?"

Chiron and Mr. D backed down and the continued the game. Grover had been eliminated long before.

"A lucky thing you are so observant," Mr. D mumbled, however. "Bad enough, working in this miserably place, much less with boys who don't even believe."

Riker raised an eyebrow. "That's right. You're the director. You have to deal with all these brats?" He thought back to Annie-girl and her snooty attitude.

Dionysus—cuz that was who the director was—waved a hand. Another goblet, like form before, appeared and filled itself with red wine. Chiron gave the god a stern look. "Mr. D, your restrictions!"

Riker suppressed a smile as the director looked down at the goblet with feigned surprise. "Dear me." He looked up at the sky and hollered. "Sorry! Old habits!"

Thunder rumbled across the clear skied. Riker ignored the out-of-whack and illogic weather. He'd gotten used to it by now. Dionysus waved his hand again, and the goblet was replaced by another can of Diet Coke. He popped the top and let out a unhappy sigh before taking a long draw.

Chiron gave Riker a wink. "Mr. D offended his father a while back. Took a fancy to a wood-nymph who had been declared off-limits."

A wood-nymph." Riker raised an eyebrow. Didn't Dionysus have a wife up in Olympus or something. But then again, here were demigods who were most likely children of Apollo and Hermes and Ares. Then there was Aphrodite, he though, spying a group of rather attractive girls near the lakeside—and wasn't she married to Hephaestus. Riker wasn't fond of cheaters, but he didn't think he could really march up to the immortals and give them a lesson in loyalty or anything, so he let the matter drop for now.

"Yes," Mr. D confessed. "Father loves to punish me. The first time, prohibition. Ghastly! An absolutely horrid ten years. The second time—well, she really was pretty, and I just couldn't stay away—the second time, he sent me here. Half-Blood Hill. A summer camp for brats like," he eyed Riker for a second before going on," that Annie-girl who was here earlier—"

Chiron looked up from his cards and blinked, looking between Mr. D and Riker for a moment, before going back to his cards with a pondering look on his face.

Mr. D leaned over the table, scrutinizing the cards closely. "I believe I win."

"Not exactly, Mr. D," Chiron said as he lay down his own hand and tallied the points while Riker watched them both with a mischievous grin. "I believe the game goes to me."

"_Actually_, boys," Riker drawled lazily as they both turned to him with a raised eyebrow. He smirked and set down a full house, having already mentally added up the points. "I'm quite certain that I am the victor in this match."

They both stared down at the hand he held out to show them, neither bothering to keep the stunned looks off their faces, and Grover had even stopped mid-chew, the aluminum in his mouth hanging out slightly while his eyes bulged.

"But—how?! Nobody's beaten Chiron!" Grover exclaimed. "Never!" Dionysus just nodded a bit numbly.

Riker leaned forward in his chair and rested his forearms on the back. "Ah-ah. But that was before I came along, wasn't it?" His blue eyes twinkled.

Mr. D stood up, and Grover got up as well. "I'm quite tired." The god said without emotion. "I believe I will take a nap before the sing-along tonight. But first, Grover, we need to talk, _again_, about your less than perfect performance."

"Y-Yes sir." Grover said, his forehead beaded with sweat. Riker blinked and turned his head to look out over at the volley-ball game. It looked like the left-side team was wining.

"Cabin Eleven, Riker Jackson—"

"Riker _Adley_ Jackson, my wine-loving friend." Riker blinked slowly, giving the man a lazy smile.

The god sneered halfheartedly. "Of course. Remember to mind your manners." He swept into the farmhouse and Grover followed behind him, twisting his cap nervously.

"Grover will be alright, Riker." Chiron said, though his words were unneeded. "Old Dionysus isn't really angry. He just hates his job. He's been... ah, grounded, I suppose you could say, and just can't stand to wait another century until he's allowed back on Olympus."

"Mount Olympus," Riker nodded. "No, is it still on the one in Greece—like, do the gods and such have jurisdiction on the entirety of the world and free reign, or are they situated in America now?"

"Yes," Chiron said, once again pleasantly surprised. Riker just shrugged—no one could say he'd never studied for any tests. "There is a Mount Olympus in Greece, and then there is Mount Olympus, palace and home to most of the Greek pantheon. And, you are correct. They are in America now. They follow the heart of the West."'

"Western Civilization?"

"Indeed. Did you think it is an abstract concept? No, it's a living force. A collective consciousness that had burned brightly for thousands of years. The gods are a part of it. You could even say, they are the heart of it—or, at least, they are tied so tightly to it that they cannot possibly fade, unless the entirety of the Western Civilization were to be obliterated. The fire started in Greece. Then it moved to Rome, and so on, and so on."

"Didn't it go to Egypt or something after that?" Riker asked thoughtfully.

"Oh, for a short time, but it wasn't very long. Wherever the flame was brightest. They spent several centuries in England—"

"Which is why you have an accent," Riker snickered.

"—all you need to do is look at the architecture. People do not forget the gods. Every place they've ruled, for the last three thousand years. They've been in paintings, sculptures, the most important buildings. Look at America's symbol, the sacred eagle of Zeus, or the statue of Prometheus in Rockfeller Center. The Greek facades of the government buildings in Washington. I doubt you will find a single city without the Olympians are not prominently displayed in multiple places. America is now the heart of the flame. It's the great power of the West. And so, Olympus is here, and we are here."

Riker stared at the man incredulously. "Did you just give me a _lecture_?"

Chiron paused. "Hm. It seems so."

"Dude, it's _summer_! Boycotting, remember? Did you remember _any_ of that?!"

"For now," Chiron continued, as if he just hadn't heard him, and Riker huffed, "we should get you a bunk in Cabin Eleven—"

"I thought Annie-girl was checking on that?" Riker asked, eyes glittering. Chiron paused, then smiled sheepishly as he was caught trying to change the subject.

"Still, there will be new friends for you to meet. And plenty of time for lessons tomorrow. Besides, there will be s'mores at the camp fire tonight, and I simply adore chocolate."

"Sure, sure, old man." Riker waved his hands in the air. "Let's go feed your addiction, why don't we." They both stood up from the table—and Chiron really did stand up. Right out of the wheelchair, and his legs did movie. Instead, his waist just kept growing, longer and longer. Riker waited patiently and the body of a white stallion emerged from the most likely magical chair and decided against questioning

the centaur on how he could fit his whole ass into that little, _tiny_ space...

"What a relief," the horse-man stretched. "I'd been couped up in there for so long, my fetlocks had fallen asleep."

He turned to Riker, who raised an eyebrow at him, and grinned cheerfully. "Come, now, Mr. Jackosn. Let's meet the rest of the camp."

**So, I'm sorry? I know we aren't at the exciting parts yet—aside from Riker's awesome fight with Mini-Minotaur-taur—and that nothing has been changed too drastically, but they're coming, believe me. *rubs hands together* I has a lot planned for this.**

**Thanks for reading, and please review!**

**~Scylar X.**


	6. Camp Introduction

_I'd run into bullies before._

_Usually, they picked on me once and didn't do so again; this especially happened when I was little, as I was a bit on the scrawny side and I apparently looked like a good target._

_They didn't make that mistake twice, I assure you._

_As I said. I'd run into bullies before—just not an entire cabin of them._

_Of course, I've never taken the time to actually get to know any of my short-time bullies before. Still, I had a feeling that they weren't as interesting as these guys were._

_And they weren't really bullies. Just children of Ares. There's a big difference, I'll tell you that._

**Chapter Six**

A few moments later and Riker was walking alongside a centaur, past the volleyball pitch and toward the large U-shaped gathering of cabins. If you had told him he'd be doing this a few weeks before, he'd have laughed in your face and went looking for whatever you were taking, but now he just wanted everyone to stop staring at him. Sure, he felt a bit like a celebrity and all, but they were starting to make him uncomfortable, and he felt more out of place than he had in a long time. So he just tighten his one-handed grip on the Minotaur's massive horn and adjusted his glasses with his free fingers, pretending that he couldn't hear the whispers.

"You see the horn, right?"

"—talked about it last night. Heard he was out for a day—"

"I wouldn't be surprised, it was the _Minotaur_—"

"— at that horn, it's _huge_—"

Someone else pointed at him with a finger. "That's _him_."

A lot of the campers were older than him, some by a good few years. The other satyrs were bigger than Grover, trotting around in orange camp t-shirts. The way they all stared at him, even the pretty girls by the trees that had green skin—that he guessed were wood-nymphs—had their eyes on him as he walked. He kept his eyes focused ahead, but he felt like they were all expecting him to do some sort of fancy flip or something.

Which he could do. And... Well, what the hell? Let's give these fellows a show. Riker turned to Chiron and raised an eyebrow. "I have a lot of excess energy from that weird drink form earlier. I'll meet you at the cabin's yeah?"

Chiron raised an eyebrow, and looked like he was about to ask him what he meant to do, but Riker spun around and raised his hands into the air, placing his feet in a beginning position like he'd been taught at the gym. Leaning back slightly, he vaulted forward onto his hands and did a fast procession of flips and sideways spins in midair until he had made his way all the way across the lawn and was surrounded by cabins. He whistled cheerfully, braces his hands behind his head and turned back to watch a slightly-exasperated Chiron come galloping after him. The teens back at the volleyball pitch and some other straggling campers around the area had stopped whatever they were doing to stare after him with mouthes slightly ajar. Riker smirked.

Well, he'd never told anyone he didn't like showing off now and then.

"Yo, old man," Riker spoke up as Chiron came near again. He had his eyes toward the top of the farmhouse. "What's up there?"

The uppermost window to the attic gable was where Riker was looking. Just for a moment, he'd seen those dusty gray curtains shift, like someone had looked out. At him.

Chiron looked back to where the teen was pointing, and his smile melted off a little. "Just the attic."

"Someone live in there?"

"No," he said with finality. "Not a single living thing."

Riker peered up at the centaur, who suddenly wouldn't look at him, and blinked. Well, the guy was telling the truth—he felt—but not the entirety of it.

Riker just shrugged and decided to leave it for a rainy day.

"Come along." Chiron went on. "Lots to see."

They walked through the strawberry fields that Riker vaguely remembered from the high-speed Minotaur-Camaro chase. Campers wanders around picking bushels of the fruits while satyrs stood near plying their reed pipes.

"It pays our expenses," Chiron explained. "Taxes, quest funds, and it also helps us keep our front before the mortals."

"I guess they take little to no effort." Riker mused aloud. "I mean, satyrs and nymphs are everywhere here and they're almost one with the green. Then you guys have got Dionysus, who mere presence I'm sure helps exponentially."

"Indeed," Chiron nodded in agreement. "It works best with grape vines, but as he is restricted from growing those, we settled for strawberries."

Riker paused a short second to glance at a satyr. He was playing his reed pipes and causing long lines of bug and other pests to go marching out of the berry patches one by one. He wondered if Grover could do that—something to make him useful, at least.

He wondered if the good director was finished chewing him out yet.

"Oi, old man," Riker called, and Chiron looked back at him. "Goat-boy won't get busted too bad or anything, right? I mean, it was partially my fault, too." Just because Riker hated feeling guilty about anything. It wouldn't be fair if Grover was blamed for everything that had gone wrong that night.

Chiron let out a sigh as he shed his tweed jacket and raped it over his horse-half's back like a saddle. "Grover has big dreams, Mr. Jackson. Perhaps larger than possible. To reach his goal, he must first demonstrate great courage in succeeding as a Keeper—finding a new camper and bringing them to Camp Half-Blood."

"Ah," Riker realized. "So that's what it was. I thought it was some trashy romance club or something." He shrugged off his own leather jacket and swung it over a shoulder carelessly. "Still, goat-boy did that! … Sorta."

"I must agree with you," Chiron told him, "but it is not my place to decide. I'm afraid that task falls onto the shoulders of the Cloven Council of Elders and Dionysus to decide. They might not see this assignment as a success. After all, Grover lost you in New York, and there's the... ah, unfortunate fate of your mother to take into consideration," Riker winced subtly. "And the fact that Grover was unconscious when _you_ dragged him over the property line. The Council might question whether this shows any bravery on Grover's part."

"Oh," Riker paused. "Right. I overlooked the courage part. Yeah, he's screwed."

Still. If he hadn't given the wimp the slip at the bus station, maybe Grover wouldn't be in trouble. And, maybe his mom might still be alive.

"Won't they give him another chance or something?"

Chiron winced. "Ah, I'm afraid that _was_ his second chance, Riker. The council wasn't overly eager to give him even that. I did advise him to wait a few more years until trying again—Olympus knows he's a bit small for his age."

"How old is he anyway?" Riker asked curiously.

"Twenty-eight."

Riker spluttered. "Eh?! And he's in sixth grade?!" Then he paused to think about it. "Oh. I guess satyrs and nymphs would age slower than us measly little humans..."

"Satyrs mature half as fast as humans, and nymphs are recored to live for centuries—they last as long as their trees do."

"What about water nymphs?"

"The naiads? They do not have trees. They are somewhat immortal, but can be killed."

Riker nodded, but his mind was still much farther back in their conversation. It started back when Chiron had mentioned his mother's fate. It was like he'd been intentionally avoiding the word _death_. The beginnings of a plan formed in his mind, but he knew it still needed a lot of work.

They made their way to the forest, and Riker paused for a moment to realize how completely _large_ it was. Not as large as the vast Canadian forests he'd visited once, but pretty big for New York. The woods took up at least a quarter of the valley and contained trees so tall and thick, you could imagine that no one had been in there since the Native Americans—and that the Native Americans might still be out there somewhere.

"The woods are fully stocked, if you wish to try your luck—but go in armed and with a partner."

"Stocked?" Riker perked up. "You mean, with... _targets_?" He grinned. "Living ones?"

Chiron eyed him somewhat warily, as if he'd just realized what exactly he may be releasing unto the world. "Indeed... And Capture the Flag is Friday nights. Do you have your own sword and shield?

"I'm a teen living in upstate New York, old man," Riker deadpanned. "What makes you think I've got old flimsy relics like that?" He didn't want to give Chiron the pen back just yet, but the question was valid. He decided to make his possession known, however. "And are you forgetting that _writing utensil_ you so graciously gave me already?"

Chiron let out a sigh. "I really would like that back, but I suppose it wouldn't matter if you use it for now, since you do seem to have taken quite the liking to it. But as for a shield—well, we will visit the armory later."

They went on and saw the archery range, the canoe lake and paid a visit to the pegasi. They went past the javelin range and the sing-along amphitheater. And Riker was really interested in the large arena where Chiron told him they held sword and spear fights.

"_Really_?" He asked. "I'm liking this place better and better!"

Chiron nodded. "Cabin challenges and all that. Not lethal. Usually. Oh yes, there's the mess hall."

Riker trailed behind him a moment or two, mouthing '_usually,?,'_ with an awes look on his face. He quickly caught up, however, and took a peek at where he would have all of his meals—that is, if he didn't sleep through breakfast like he normally did.

It was an outdoor pavilion framed by large, white, marble columns on a hill overlooking the sea. It held a dozen long stone picnic tables. No walls, no roof.

"Does it rain here, or do you guys have a godly blessing that helps you avoid nasty weather?"

Chiron only smiled down at him proudly.

Finally, they found themselves back at the cabins. Twelve of them, all nestles comfortable into the woods by the lake. They were, as Riker had noticed before, arranged in a large U, with two at the base and five on either sides.

Aside from the large brass number above each door, the buildings looked absolutely nothing alike.

Cabin Nine had smokestacks, like some type of tiny factory.

Number four had tomato vines on the walls and a roof made of farmed grass—maybe some type of wheat.

Seven appeared to be made of solid gold, and gleamed so brightly in the sun it almost hurt to look at.

The cabins at the base looked like his-and-hers mausoleums. The first was the largest, big and bulky and sparkling like a vampire. The second was more graceful with the columns curving in like peacock feathers.

"Zeus and Hera's cabins seem empty." Riker noted.

"Several of the cabins are, that is true," Chiron replied. "No one ever stays in Cabin One or Two," which meant Hera had no demigod children. Riker felt satisfied—at least one Olympian remained loyal to their spouse. Then he tuned back in to Chiron, who was still speaking. "Or Three." Riker looked over at the mentioned Cabin Three, and noticed how it looked a bit like a beach house. It was the nearest Cabin in the direction of the lake and smelled of salt and waves. Riker didn't like it—it looked so sad, and lonely. He instantly thought of his mother, and looked away.

Cabin Six was pretty much the opposite of Seven, with a solid silver look about it instead of gold and it glowed like the full moon on a cloudless night. Artemis, he guessed. It was empty as well, which made sense, since she was a maiden goddess.

But Riker's favorite by far was Cabin number Five. It was painted with an angry red color, splotchy in places, as if the color had been slapped on with hammers, buckets and fists instead of brushes. Barbed wire encircled the roof, and a stuffed boar's head was mounted over the doorway. The eyes of the boar seemed to stare at whoever was walking past. Punk rock music blared from the inside loudly, along with the sounds of shattering furniture and quarreling yells. Through the open door, he could see a girl his age, with tough, light brown, almost dirty blond hair, who wore black sports shorts and an extra large orange camp t-shirt under a camouflage jacket. She was dancing around to the blaring music as the rest of the kids in the cabin wrestled and argued with one another. She glanced up and cast him a small sneer. He grinned back.

As they moved on, Riker looked up at Chiron. "There any other centaurs here, old man?"

"No," Chiron said, a bit sadly. "My kinsmen are a wild and barbaric folk. You might encounter them in the wild or at major sporting events, but not here." Riker grinned eagerly. He wanted to meet these guys! Well, horses. Horse-people...

"I assume you're immortal, since you're the Chiron from legend," the teen went on, and Chiron watched him speak with an eyebrow raised in curiosity at what the boy had to say. "Does it ever get boring?"

"No, no." He shook his head. "Horribly depressing, at times, but never boring."

Riker nodded as they walked along, nearing the Cabin marked "11," and the young teen grinned. "Hey, lookit! Annie-girl's waiting for us!"

When they reached her, Annabeth looked him up and down critically, as if she was still pondering how much he drooled.

Riker looked over at the book she'd been reading, held tightly in her hand. On the cover he could just make out Greek and Roman temples and all kinds or buildings. The title was in ancient Greek, and read _Architecture through the Ages_. Well, lookie here. Annie-girl was a nerd.

"Annabeth," Chiron finally said. "I have archery class at noon. Would you mind taking Riker from here."

Annabeth looked as if she did, in fact, mind, but she flashed the centaur a smile and said, "Sure, Chiron."

Other than her ramblings about the solstice deadlines and "you drool when you sleep," that's the only thing Riker had ever heard the blond say. What a kiss-up.

"Cabin Eleven," Chiron turned to him, and Riker regarded him casually. "Make yourself at him." Then, he galloped away.

Riker ignored Annabeth, who was still analyzing him intently, and took a look at his future home. Out of all the cabin, Cabin Eleven looked the most normal—as in, your average old summer camp cabin, emphasis on old, if you took into consideration the peeling pant and the shabby furniture he could see inside.

Riker walked up and kicked pen the door. It slammed into a body or two. He realized how packed the cabins were, and frowned. Why didn't the gods just lend the overflowing Hermes campers—because that's what he realized these kids were—some room? Their own cabins, even if only representing them and free of their children, were practically abandoned. The gods could be generous and give these guys a place to sleep.

Okay then. Mental nice-guy time spent. He surveyed the now silent cabin mates, who were staring at him. Sizing him up. He returned the stare full-force, and some had to glance away.

He knew this routine. He'd gone through it at every school he'd gone to. Every year.

"Can't you knock like a civilized person?" Annabeth grumbled form behind him as she followed him over the threshold, and Riker looked back to flash her a grin. Before he tripped over someone's sleeping bag.

The Hermes campers got ready to laugh at him, but Riker just expertly rolled on his palms and flipped up again, landing firmly on his feet halfway across the room. He looked around warily for more obstacles, and finding none, glances at the gaping campers.. "Cabin needs to be bigger." He mumbled loudly.

Annabeth sighed. "Riker Jackson, meet Cabin Eleven."

"Regular or undetermined?" Somebody asked.

"Undetermined," Riker said, crossing his arms while Annabeth looked over at him with a slightly surprised look. He figured undetermined meant that they didn't know who his dad was. He had a good idea, but he wasn't overly fond of it. Cabin five looked way nicer to him.  
Everyone groaned, and someone mumbled. "I'll eat my socks if he's not an Ares kid."

Riker grinned.

"Now, now," a tall blond guy with a thick white scar mottling his rather handsome appearance stepped forward when his cabin mates had groaned. "That's what we're here for, campers."He turned around with a smile. "Welcome, Riker. You can have that spot on the floor, right over there." He pointed.

Riker looked. "Uh, yeah. Nope. I think I'll just sleep on the roof. That's cool with me. Cool with you? Usually that more comfortable than any floor." He shrugged at their looks of disbelief. "I've done it plenty of times before."

"But if you go outside past curfew, the harpies have clearance to eat you!" A younger camper exclaimed, a girl with dark red hair. She looked to be about seven.

Riker let out a loud laugh and crouched down to her size with a grin. "Really? That'll be exciting! But, I won't really be away from the cabin if I'm on the roof, will I?"

That made them all pause. "Well..." The blond guy from before started uncertainly. "I still don't think it's a good idea, but I guess you can do what you want."

"Riker," Annabeth stepped up, then, gesturing at the blond guy. "This is Luke. He'll be your counselor for now." But she was blushing, and Riker chuckled.

"Awww, does Annie-girl have a crush now?" He asked, and the girl turned bright red while Luke raised an eyebrow as the rest of the cabin murmured to each other.

"What makes you think that?" Annabeth spluttered, face like a tomato. "No!"

Luke smiled, but this time it was with a little hesitancy. "Cabin Eleven takes in all the undetermined, so that's why we're a little crowded. Hermes, our patron, is the god of travelers, after all."

Riker turned back to him, nodding. "Mhm. And thieves. Which is why I'm sleeping on the roof." He winked. Several of the blond haired kids laughed as the rest of the campers edged away from them ever so slightly, but looked used to the treatment.

"Come on," Annabeth came over and tugged on his arm roughly. "Let's go see the volleyball court."

Riker pulled his arm away. "Been there, done that." He shot back.

But Miss California Girl was stronger than she looked, and only pulled harder, until they were back walking outside and Riker was scowling at her. She ignored him. "Yo have to do better than that, Jackson."

"No, I don't," He snapped, getting tired of the girl's attitude. "And what's with this treatment, huh? All I did was kill that bull-man—"

"Don't talk like that!" She said back, raising her voice a little. "Do you know how many kids at this camp wish they had the chance you did?"

"To get killed?" Riker deadpanned, pissed. "To watch their mother vanish in a golden light before their eyes as she was being strangled?"

She winced, pausing in he tirade. "... I didn't mean that part. But that was—"

"The Minotaur," Riker rolled his eyes, walking ahead of her. "Yes I know. Did you already forget about me saying "One Son pf Pasiphae, defeated," back before you watched me pass out on the porch? And then watched me sleep the next day?" He waggled his eyebrows, before turning back around, not really yin the mood to even tease her.

But she still turned red. "I was watching over you because you were seriously injured! Glass embedded in your skin all over! Besides, you defeated him—sure-but you didn't kill him. Monsters can't die. Their essence only returns to Tartarus before reforming on the world. That can takes a few years or even decades, depending on their power, though."

"So my evil Math teacher's gonna come back, then," Riker groaned. Damn, I knew killing her wouldn't keep her down for long.

She looked at him strangely, before her face cleared in understanding. "That's right. The Fu—um, math teacher you defeated. She'll be forming in Tartarus right about now, and I'm guessing she's really mad at you."

"She was a Fury, then," Riker realized. "Hades' torturers. I guess that makes sense, but it still doesn't tell me what she—or her master—wanted."

"Don't say their names!" She hissed, glancing at the ground as if she expected it to swallow her up. Riker snorted. "They should learn to deal with it. Sure, names have power, but I don't see why we shouldn't say them out loud. It's stupid. Like every undetermined camper staying at Hermes' place. The other gods should be gracious and lend them their cabins. They have plenty of room anyhow." he pointed out one of the empty cabins, and Annabeth paled.

"You just don't choose a cabin like that, Riker. It depends on who your parents were... or, your parent." Riker stiffened.

"My mother is Sally Jackson." He said, but he knew she was talking about his dad. He glanced over at Cabin Three for a moment, before turning away. As if he'd step in there. "She works at the candy shop at Grand Central.. Or, she used to." He twisted around a few times in either direction and cracked his spine a few times. Annabeth winced.

"I'm sorry about your mom, Riker. But that's not what I meant. I was talking about your other parent. Your dad."

"I don't care which god he is." Riker snorted. "He could be Zeus himself and I'd still go chase after him and punch him in the face." He had promised, after all.

Annabeth sighed. "So, I don't know him," she admitted. "But I know you, and you wouldn't be here if you weren't one of us."

"_Ob_viously." Riker huffed in irritation. He knew this already. This girl was annoying. "But you don't know anything about me."

"No?" She raised an eyebrow. "I bet you were moved around from school to school. I bet you were kicked out of a lot of them."

"By my own power." He replied. "That has nothing to do with this. I chose to leave them and I only got expelled when I wanted to."

She blinked, momentarily surprised, before moving on. "Diagnosed with dyslexia, and probably ADHD as well."

"Sure," Riker shrugged. "But I'm guessing that must be a thing with us demigods. It doesn't define _me_. You don't know _me_, or anything _about_ me. All you know is the demigod stereotypes, which will obviously apply to me as well as you. That doesn't show me anything."

Annabeth looked away, most likely not wanting admit defeat. Instead, she went on to explain these things. "The dyslexia is because our brains are hardwired for ancient Greek. And ADHD is our battle reflexes. They would keep you alive in a real fight, despite being annoying in the classroom. And the attention problems—that you don't really seem to have, Riker—are because you see too much. Not too little. Your senses are better than a regular mortals."

"My ADHD doesn't normally affect me," Riker started. He had listened intently and now understood a lot of things. Not that he wouldn't have eventually come to the conclusions himself, but this way was faster. "Well, it probably does, but I don't find it annoying. I'm used to it, and I actually like it. It gives me an excuse not to pay attention. And the attention problems? I do have those, but not in the way you think. I sometimes pay too much attention, not too little—just like you mentioned. But I can focus any it all, not just in quick flashes like is regular for those diagnosed with ADHD."

She was about to reply, but a gruff female voice called out to them from behind. "Well, lookie here! A newbie!"

Riker had heard that voice shouting back in Cabin Five. He grinned an d spun around, not noticing the irritated look on Annabeth's face.

"Clarisse," the blond girl growled before Riker could say anything. "Why don't you go polish your spear or something?"

"Sure, Miss Princess," the girl smirked, and Riker raised an eyebrow. "So I can run you through with it in Capture the Flag?"

"_Go to the crows_!" Annabeth yelled in ancient Greek. He somehow had the feeling it was a worse curse than it seemed, so he filed it away for later. He needed to stock up on cusses in this newfound language of his. "You won't stand a chance!"

"We'll pulverize you,," Clarisse's eye twitched. Apparently she wasn't sure she could follow through with that threat, and Riker made a mental note to make sure to change that. Annabeth's team was going down Friday night. The daughter of Ares turned to him. "Who's this guy?" She asked, sizing him up and down.

"Riker Jackson." Annabeth said, stepping forward. "Meet Clarisse, counselor of Cabin Eleven."

"Daughter of the War God," he mused aloud, looking the potential rough-housing partner from top to bottom.

"You have a problem with that?" the girl growled.

Riker smirked over at her. "Nah. I just hope I'm in your cabin. It fucking rocks."

Clarisse and her siblings seemed surprised by this, since it apparently threw them for a loop. They stared over at him, then grinned in unison. "I _see_. Potential child of Ares, then?"

Riker let out a morose sigh. "I'm hoping, but it kinda seems unlikely. I know it's my dad, though. I just don't think someone like Ares would take to someone like my mom, no matter how awesome they both are."

"I'm thinking we can skip the initiation ceremony." Clarisse told her cabin mates, who agreed.

"Yeah, He seems like the right sort."

"Let's get him for Friday!"

Annabeth remained silent, just watching their meeting and exchange with a blank face. Apparently Clarisse and her siblings didn't take this well to noobs like him.

Clarisse sidled up to Riker and swung an arm around his shoulder. "C'mon, Rike—can I call you Rike?" He nodded, "You ditch Wise Girl here and we'll give the tour instead. It's much more fun with the Ares kids."

"Chiron already gave me tour," Riker sighed wistfully, wishing the centaur hadn't, now. "Annie-girl was just dragging me away from the Hermes cabin since I was making a laughing stock of her and the counselor's relationship status."

The three children of Ares grinned at each other and looked back at him as they led him away from the fuming daughter of Athena—Riker deducted, from Clarisse's wide-girl pun. "I think we'll get along fabulously."

They dragged him down to the yard in front of Cabin Five and looked him over one last time. "They're all saying you're Big Three material," Clarisse told him. "I was thinking no at first, but that was before our glorious meeting. I think you could be, but I'm hoping Dad's giving us another brother here." She grinned.

"Big three?" He tilted his head, pulling his jacket back on over his mesh. "Lemme guess—Zeus, Poseidon, Hades? I was under the impression Thunderwear and Spongebob didn't have no kids—and Hades doesn't have a cabin here."

They regarded him closely, before all four broke out laughing. "Thunderwear?" The blond kid next to Clarisse choked. "Don't let him hear you call him that! He'll turn you crispy!"

"Spongebob," Clarisse snickered. "Poseidon's a little more soft than Zeus, Jace," she said to the blond as the raven-haired teen gave Riker a high five. "But I think we could be more creative with an insulting nickname."

Riker nodded. "I agree. It was just off the top of my head, though. I'm sure we could come up with better."

"What about Hades?" The Raven-haired child of Ares asked.

"Not sure if even I wanna risk angering him, Matt," Clarisse pondered. "But Corpse Breath sounds okay for now."

"Juvenile." Riker cut in with a roll of his blue eyes. "I was thinking more like "Supreme Lord of the Zombies," It's a little less creative and not as funny, but he's actually one of the gods I respect." he shrugged. He does judge our measly little souls when we die, after all.

"Guess so." Jace intoned, before grinning. "But man oh man. We'll definitely win Capture the Flag this week! Athena cabin's going to eat the dust!"

**I know, that ending was a bit lame, but I decided to stop there since I only just a little over half an hour left on the computer tonight, and I wanted to post this before going to bed.**

**So Clarisse and Riker have finally met and it's friends at first sight.**

**Which reminds me. The pairing pole had ended, and we have a winner! However, the only thing I'm telling you is that it's not Clarisse ;) Or Annabeth, for that matter. I laughed when I saw she was second to last, and over Katie of all people. Mwahaha. Percebeth sucks!**

**Anyway, I was a bit disappointed when I noticed how little reviews I've been getting for this. Dammit, my Harry Potter elfling fic gets more than this! C'mon people! If you read, please, review!**

**That also reminds me. Riker needs to curse more *scribbles some notes***

**Okay~ Review! Love you all.**

**~Scylar X.**


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